Belle's Diary — Season 1
by jennykate75
Summary: Belle chronicles her life throughout the first season of Once Upon a Time. Funny, poignant passages slowly turn dark as Belle questions whether True Love can truly win in the end — and her ultimate discovery that with patience it does. Cover by nero749, used with permission
1. A New Life with a Smiley Face

_January 1_

_10 am_

Well, it's a new year and a new life. I have just finished my first breakfast service and I'm about to plan the schedules for cleaning the castle and receiving food deliveries. As I was searching for parchment, I came across this empty book and I couldn't help myself – I had to claim it for a diary. My head is just swimming; in less than 24 hours my entire life has been turned upside down and I need to write it all down to make sense of it.

Last night I was with Papa and his knights, trying to stay informed. My job, as always, was twofold: look pretty and keep up morale. As it was New Years Eve, my father instructed me to dress as if nothing had changed – even though the castle was deserted and we sequestered ourselves for our safety.

We received news that Avonlea had fallen, and all hope seemed lost. Our message for help for the only one who could save us had gone unanswered. The knights claimed we were doomed. I tried to do my part to rally them, to keep my father's spirits up, but he was crestfallen and we reached our greatest point of desperation.

Which was of course the perfect time for him to make his entrance.

And what an entrance he made. We heard a knock on the door and unbolted it, only to discover no one there. And then from behind, we heard, "Well, that was a bit of a letdown." We turned quickly and there he was – sitting on my father's throne.

The mighty Rumpelstiltskin.

He immediately intrigued me. He bargained with my father I suppose, for I was too busy observing him to hear what was said. I had heard so many tales that I wasn't sure what was fact and what was fiction. He was shorter than I imagined for someone whose mere presence evokes such fear — only slightly taller than myself. I was surprised to find that I was not afraid of him. Cautious, yes, and definitely curious, but not afraid. I had heard about how he had made his skin impenetrable, and it glowed with a gray intensity I never thought possible. This being — whether man or beast — had … gravitas. Yes, that is the best word to describe it. Even though he cackled and made jokes, he had more gravitas than anyone I had ever encountered before.

He did not look my way once, so I was surprised when he announced that the price for saving the village was me.

Now I was afraid. A pretty girl being bartered like a slave has a certain purpose, and that life I would not wish on my worst enemy (who incidentally is Betsy Peadie, but that's a story for another day). Gaston's arms instantly shielded me as he announced our engagement. He might as well have said, "I have dibs."

Thankfully Rumpelstiltskin clarified his purpose. He needed a caretaker for his estate.

Now that was a different story! I could save my entire village by doing an actual job - a job that wasn't about looking pretty and trying to keep everybody upbeat! Here was a respectable position requiring a certain skill set, work ethic and hard labor. No longer would I hear, "Oh Belle, we have people to do that for us" or "You'll ruin your pretty hands." It would be nice to be useful AND save my family and friends from peril.

So he gave me his word, and I gave him mine.

As he put his hand on the small of my back and steered me away, I did not welcome his touch, and I began to question if I had made the right decision. But it was one I stood by.

Within the blink of an eye, we reached his castle and he hustled me inside, leading me to "my room": the dungeon. I was flabbergasted. I had just committed myself to being his caretaker, and he was locking me up? He cackled, locked the door and left me in disbelief. Upon reflection, I realized this was a tactic to remind me of the initial ground rules: he is the jailer and I am the jailed. As if I needed reminding.

This morning he retrieved me from the dungeon and brought me to the kitchen in a separate section of the cellar. His kitchen was typical for a bachelor: nothing was organized. It was functional and not too horribly dirty, but obviously lacking a woman's touch.

He led me into the scullery and stopped at the sink and an indoor water pump. He tapped his fingertips together with refrained glee. "Pump water for tea, thinking about the tea as you pump it."

I did as he commanded, and the resulting water was the perfect temperature for tea.

He cackled at the astonishment on my face. "A spell of mine to provide water at the temperature at which it's needed." He pointed to my feet. "Now take off your shoes."

His odd requests were making me nervous, but I slipped them off.

"What do you feel?" he asked.

"The stone," I answered in confusion. His eyebrows rose and then I realized what he is after. "It's warm – in the middle of winter!"

"It's called radiant heat," he explained. "Another spell of mine. Keeps the floor at a consistent temperature all year round. Also keeps the castle's drafty stone walls insulated."

I bit my lower lip and shook my head in wonder. "That's ingenious!"

He tapped his fingertips again and looked at the ceiling with mock demureness.

"Follow me to the collection room. And bring the tea!"

His collection room doubles as the dining room – and it's one of the rooms he took me through last night to reach the dungeons. As I served him tea, he instructed me on my responsibilities. I tried to make mental notes of everything he said I needed to do - and not appear as nervous as I felt.

But then he ended his to-do list with, "And skin the children for their pelts."

I immediately dropped the teacup.

He grinned at my reaction. "Just a quip. Not serious," he clarified, followed by his trademark cackle.

I smiled and relaxed slightly – until I bent down to grab the teacup and noticed its chip. I nervously showed him and apologized. I had a feeling I was headed back to the dungeon.

He looked perplexed at my nervousness. "It's just a cup," he dismissed.

It's just a cup. I sighed with relief, and at that moment I knew I'd be fine. He had a sense of humor and a sense of perspective, traits that had been severely lacking in the people within my own castle walls. If he could laugh something off, maybe it was OK for me to as well.

I returned to the kitchen to see what I could scrounge for breakfast. This was my first real assignment, and I had to show my worth.

I made his breakfast, placed it on a tray and brought it up to him just as he was finishing his tea.

As I approached, he said, "You know, dearie. This better not be an attempt to poison me. Because it won't work."

He wasn't the only one who could quip. "Not on my first day," I wryly announced. "Maybe next week."

I stepped several paces back to give him his space while observing his reaction.

He stared at my creation for a few moments and did not speak or move. I cringed. He picked up the spoon. Finally he broke the silence.

"What is this?" he asked.

"Hot porridge," I answered, my courage fading. "With orange slices on the side."

He picked up his spoon. "No, I mean this." He pointed inside the bowl.

I peeked inside to see what he was referring to.

I'd given the most dangerous and feared being in all the land a bowl full of porridge — with a molasses smiley face in it.

I felt my cheeks flush at how ridiculous that sounded.

"Um, a smiley face?" I said tenuously. "You, um, are supposed to mix it in for flavor."

He tasted a small spoonful, tapping the tip of his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

I wrung my hands. "Is everything all right?"

"What? Oh yes, yes, dearie. I just didn't expect … this."

I winced and stepped forward to explain myself. "I know it's not eggs and bacon, but this is my first full day and your pantry is fairly bare. I will need to get in touch with people from the village for food deliveries. Set up schedules. I'll have whatever you request tomorrow."

He licked the spoon upside down in his mouth and pulled it out slowly. "Fine, then I'll put in my request now."

I stood at attention, waiting to hear what he had to say. His eyes met mine.

"I will have this exact same breakfast tomorrow. Just as it is."

I gasped and grinned at my success. "Really? Smiley face and all?"

"Smiley face and all."

I pursed my lips in a grin, a trademark of mine since I was a child when I need to quell my delight for propriety's sake. But it didn't stop me from taking the liberty of sitting on the table. Luckily he didn't object.

"This porridge is what my mother used to make when I was a child. It's her special blend of ingredients to promote health and ward off sickness."

He picked up an orange slice. "But I don't get sick."

I tried to quickly think of a comeback. "Well, even if you don't, it's best to eat the right foods when you can."

"And you know this because …" His voice trailed off and he motioned his hand dramatically to get me to finish his sentence.

"Because I read books."

He stared at me with a dumbfounded expression.

"What? I like to read."

He shook his head and blinked. "Nothing, nothing. That's not a statement I would have expected from a woman bedecked in yards of satin."

I chuckled. "Oh, don't let the dress fool you. I'll take a book over a ballroom any day."

He scooped another spoonful of porridge into his mouth. He has a unique way of eating it, turning it so the food falls on his tongue and then pulling the spoon down and out of his mouth.

"And what kind of books? Romance novels, I suppose."

"Oh no," I shook my head. "I've only read one and it was one too many. The only interesting character felt too deeply and it destroyed him from the inside out. It was supposed to be a lesson on emotional decorum and the benefits of courtly love." I snorted. "But the supposedly evil knights always fascinated me more than the 'good' ones."

He tilted his head and looked at me curiously. I looked down at my feet in embarrassment and steered the conversation away from romance altogether, the last topic in the world I wanted to address with him.

"I read whatever I can get my hands on, which isn't much because my father has tried to encourage me into," I cleared my throat and fluffed my dress, "more appropriate behaviors for my station. My latest acquisition was a fascinating biography about the Iceni warrior queen Boudicca. I thought knowing about her and her tactics might help in case the ogres attacked, but I didn't get a chance to finish it before … well, before coming here."

He chewed and swallowed his last orange slice. Then the corners of his mouth turned upward. "Yes, I saw you holding that book and sneaking glances at it before I made my appearance. I thought you were trying to impress one of your father's knights – or be one of them. And the former seemed more logical considering that dress."

My eyebrows rose. "You were watching us? For how long?"

He ate his last few scoops of porridge and dabbed his mouth with his napkin before answering. "I always assess potential situations thoroughly before making any deals."

I looked at him shrewdly. So he had been paying attention to me in some capacity; it just hadn't seemed that way at the time. Last night I feared that he made the deal because he liked the way I looked. But was he instead seeing me as someone learned that he could talk to for company? I was surprised at how much this idea appealed to me.

He broke my reverie by pointing to his empty dishes expectantly. I blinked, hopped down and began to clear the table.

"And will I see another smiley face at lunch?" he asked.

"Perhaps," I answered, trying to sound mysterious.

"From what I've seen from you so far, you will probably use prunes as the arrangement." He frowned and stuck his tongue out in disgust.

I leaned forward at his joke, my eyes glancing at the empty porridge bowl, and then into his eyes to show the glimmer in mine. "Oh no, not at all. Those were already in the porridge."

A smile slowly grew across his face. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms behind his head, seemingly impressed. I left the room with my head held high and tried to quell my laughter. And now I'm here writing in you, dear diary.

This has definitely been an interesting first morning.


	2. Sizing Each Other Up

**A/N: This is what happens when Sally Struthers (All in the Family, Gilmore Girls) invades your dreams… **

_January 1_

_2pm_

"I have a schedule set." I placed a piece of parchment in front of him. He looked just as perplexed as when I laid the smiley face porridge in front of him earlier.

"The farmer will deliver dairy, eggs and produce on Monday and Thursday. The butcher will deliver meats and poultry on Tuesday and Saturday, while the fishmonger will visit on Thursday. The baker will deliver fresh bread on Wednesday and Saturday, so there are two deliveries on Saturday — one from the butcher and one from the baker — of which I need to be mindful. I got them all to agree that they will arrive between 7:30 and 8 am, which is when I will be in the kitchen anyway preparing breakfast. Now I know the fishmonger is only visiting once a week, but if that's not to your liking or dietary preferences, we can rearrange the schedule. However, she did indicate to me that you did not purchase from her often and therefore once a week would most likely more than suffice."

He stared blankly at the schedule without saying a word.

"Here is my cleaning schedule." I placed another parchment in front of him. "As you can see, I plan on cleaning five days a week; Saturdays I reserve for laundry." I hesitated and cleared my throat. Now I have to give him a piece of bad news and I'm not sure how he'll take it. "I have gone through this castle and it is far too vast for me to clean and keep up with as a whole. So I am assuming the best course of action is to concentrate my efforts on the rooms that get the most use. That would be the kitchen cellars, this room, your laboratory..."

"You are not allowed in my laboratory without me," he clarified.

I leaned toward the schedule so I could view it. "Then will you be working in that room on Tuesdays between 2 and 4 pm? Because that's when I have scheduled it."

He looked up at me, his face only inches from mine. "I tend to be, yes."

I was a little flustered at the close presence and I backed away with embarrassment. "Are there any other rooms that I should be aware of?"

"Well, you would want to clean your room, I suppose."

I pointed to a section on the schedule. "Yes, I'm scheduled to clean my room in the dungeon on Thursday from 10 to 11am."

The corners of his mouth flickered again. He was about to say something when there was a knock on the door. He excused himself to answer it and I waited for him to return.

The doors to the collection room opened on their own and in he strutted with two women carrying parchment and measuring tape draped around their necks like a scarf. One was lanky and tall with long graying black hair, while the other was short and stout with graying blonde curls.

He folded his hands together and turned to me. "Belle, these are your dressmakers."

I blinked in wonder. "Dressmakers?"

"Unless you want to stay in that yellow satin forever. But I really can't have you serving in finer clothes than me." He cackled.

I was stunned. "No, I'd love a new dress. Something functional would be most welcome."

"Ah," he bowed. "Then design away." I stared at him as he walked towards his spindle and started spinning.

The dressmakers distracted me by raising my arms to take measurements. The short one shouted out measurements while the tall one wrote everything down on parchment. They were no nonsense and got straight to business, not wanting to spend a minute longer in this building than she has to. I can't say that I blamed them.

"And what do you have in mind?" the lanky one asked.

I saw her assessing me, judging me, as if I was nothing more than another trophy for Rumpelstiltskin to display in his collection room. But I was about to surprise her.

"If I could, if it wouldn't be too much trouble," I bit my lip with hope, "I would absolutely, positively love … a simple chemise."

Rumpelstiltskin coughed. But he didn't stop spinning.

The short one stopped taking measurements. "A chemise," she reiterated in disbelief. "Like every peasant has ever worn since the beginning of time."

"Oh yes. I have always wanted one, but my father would never allow it. Always silk and satin and completely impractical, restrictive things," I looked down on myself, "like this."

The lanky one was silent, staring at me as if I was crazy. "I think we can get you a chemise."

"A crisp white linen," I requested. "You don't have to fuss with the arms – a cap sleeve is fine, but with a little room for movement."

Both dressmakers exchanged looks and nodded.

"And a wool knit bodice with leather laces and matching skirt," I suggested. "Preferably in a color that doesn't show dust. But not gray."

The short one looked inspired. "A nice blue to bring out the beautiful blue in your eyes! Oh Vera, look at her eyes!"

I felt my cheeks blush at her compliment. Vera, the lanky one, peered at me and nodded. I tried to bring the topic of discussion back to the dress.

"The skirt should be pleated and go to mid-calf," I continued, "not all the way to the floor. Easier maneuverability that way."

"Sally, she'll need stockings too," Vera commented.

"Something durable yet comfortable," I suggested, "and in a blue that matches the dress."

Sally nodded as she knelt and measured my hips. "Oh honey, your measurements are the exact same mine were when I met my husband!" She grinned as she stood up and exhaled loudly from the effort. Then she assessed me keenly from head to toe. "Vera, doesn't she look like me when I was that age?"

"Actually, she does," Vera admitted.

I tried to appear as polite as possible, as the great Betsy Peadie would, even though I was absolutely horrified. "Imagine that."

Sally read the expression on my face. "Oh, don't look so worried, sweetheart. I married a baker and that was my undoing in more ways than one." She laughed and patted her stomach. "But you just wait. You have great birthing hips, let me tell you. I never had a problem. Those babies just …" She brushed her hands together and stopped in mid-movement when she saw the mortification written all over Rumpelstiltskin's face as well as my own. "Oh boy, sorry. Usually when I'm measuring a woman for a dress it's because of a wedding or a pregnancy or sometimes even both …" Her voice trailed off.

Vera cleared her throat and tried to save her friend. "Any other requests?"

I regained my composure. Sally's comments about pregnancy (and my lack thereof) reminded me that there was a certain monthly issue I had to take into consideration that they would understand and Rumpelstiltskin would not. So I leaned forward to whisper it in their ears.

Rumpelstiltskin suddenly appeared at our side.

"It's no use whispering," he murmurred in sing-song. The three of us jumped. He cackled and backed away slightly. "So you might as well tell me. I ought to know everything I'm paying for." He pointed at me. "And it better not be escape supplies."

When is he going to stop with this whole escape idea?

My eyes flashed at him and I crossed my arms. "Fine. I was telling them that I need certain 'womanly supplies'. Would you like to hear exactly what they are?"

The dressmakers looked at Rumpelstiltskin, then me. Then back to Rumpelstiltskin, and then back to me.

He hunched his back, grumbled something under his breath and trudged back to his spindle.

"You get one dress and whatever your 'womanly supplies' are," he said with his back turned, "but no more."

And then I don't know what possessed Sally to say this except perhaps sheer stupidity, but she blurted out, "What about nightclothes?"

Rumpelstiltskin immediately turned and looked at the dressmaker as if she had two heads. "What she wears at night is none of my concern."

Sally stepped back and cowered. "Yes, whatever you say. I wasn't suggesting that it would be."

He looked at me from head to toe and his eyes asked me if it was something I really wanted.

"We could classify a nightgown as a 'womanly supply'," I suggested hopefully. "I really don't relish the idea of sleeping in the dungeon in items I spent all day cleaning in." I stressed the words 'in the dungeon', so that the dressmakers understood that I am nothing more to him than a cook and a maid and I intend to keep it that way.

His eyes ran over me once more. He finally nodded and absently said, "Yes. Yes, that makes sense. Go ahead and order what you like."

I turned to Vera and smiled as she wrote down my instructions. "Just a simple nightgown, again to midcalf. Something with long sleeves – preferably in a peasant blouse style that I can wear under my skirt and bodice if I'm washing the chemise. I've always loved the style of peasant blouses, but my father would never allow those either."

Vera eyed Rumpelstiltskin keenly, assessing whether she should ask her next question. After a moment's hesitation, she asked, "And what about a cloak?"

I turned to see Rumpelstilskin run his hand down his face and sigh.

"She doesn't need a cloak," he explained, trying to be calm and patient. "She's not allowed to leave the castle."

I pursed my lips again. I knew I was pressing my luck. "I plan to walk outside on the castle battlements to get fresh air and sunshine."

Sally gasped. "Oh Vera, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Vera's eyes gleamed. "That beautiful green and blue brocade pattern that would perfectly complement the dress and her skin tone?"

They gasped in unison and squealed.

I kept my lips pursed and my eye on Rumpelstiltskin. We seemed to be communicating well nonverbally and I let him know the decision was his.

He brushed his hand in front of his face in mock defeat. "Fine. Add that to the order as well."

Vera nodded and finished writing. "All right, I believe we have all the information we need." She turned to Rumpelstiltskin and hesitated. "And when will you be needing this all by?"

He grinned evilly and folded his hands together. This is where he could gain the upper hand. "Tomorrow morning by dawn," he answered.

Both dressmakers gaped. "Tomorrow morning by dawn?" Vera repeated.

Sally stuttered. "We'll, we'll have to get several women on this job, working all night!"

"Yes, I suppose you shall." He leaned towards them menacingly. "But that's not my problem, is it?"

They gaped at him in fear.

"Better get a move on," he instructed, swooshing them away with his hand. "You know I expect top quality — and what I do if I do not receive it."

They turned and rushed out the door, trying not to trip over their measuring tape.

He cackled. "Probably shouldn't have upsold so much," he yelled.

His cackling died down and he turned to me, again assessing me from head to toe, and it was his turn to purse his lips.

"You're going to cost me a fortune," he stated. I'm beginning to tell when he is teasing and when he's not, and this is definite teasing.

"Perhaps next time you hire servants," I suggested, "you'll give them enough time to pack a bag."

He smirked. "Couldn't have you changing your mind. And besides, it didn't sound like you had the clothes for the job to pack."

I smiled. He had me there.

"Besides," he began, "you're here so that I never have to hire another servant again, ergo any suggestions about future hirings are moot."

My eyebrows rose. "So in that case, I'm not costing you a fortune, I'm saving you one."

He smiled and bowed to concede my point. Then he rubbed his forefinger and thumb together thoughtfully and walked back to his spindle.

**A/N: You will find that I can latch onto an insignificant detail in canon and turn it into a plot point. I am also one of those who think things like, "What is Belle going to do when she gets her period?" and somehow incorporate that into the story. It can't just be me who wonders these things, can it? ;)**

**For those concerned that I will never finish this, please know I have a first draft of it all, so the only thing I need to work on is tweaking and polishing (which can sometimes take as long as writing a first draft, but psychologically it seems easier because at least it's all written). Hope you are enjoying it - please review!  
**


	3. Candlestick to the Head

_January 1_

_10pm_

I returned to the kitchen cellars. I managed lunch and dinner and in between started to clean the kitchen and organize the pantry. I just finished washing the dishes and silverware in the scullery when Rumpelstiltskin walked in.

I wiped my hands on a dish towel and cleared my throat. "Is there something else you require?"

"No. But there is something that you require." He motioned me with his finger to follow him upstairs.

We walked back through the collection room and into the foyer. I was deathly afraid that he was going to turn up the stairway to his bedroom, but he instead walked across the foyer to the double doors opposite the collection room.

"I've extended the heat spell to two more rooms," he announced, "which you will have to add to your cleaning schedule." He said the last two words teasingly. With a swish of his hands, the doors opened and we stepped into a vast, three-stories-high library, filled with shelves of books.

If my jaw could touch the floor, it would have.

Rumpelstiltskin cackled at my reaction, nearly jumping out of his boots with excitement. He tapped his fingertips together.

I finally found the ability to speak. "This is magnificent!" My eyes widened even more when I saw a lone book on the table. "The book about Boudicca I was reading!" I exclaimed. I held it close to my chest.

"I knew you'd like it." He sauntered closer to me. "Of course, to enjoy it you will have to finish all your work first."

I nodded. "I could add these rooms to my Saturday cleaning schedule and move laundry to Sunday, I suppose."

He grinned. "Excellent. And," he paused and took a few steps toward the spiral staircase at the other side of the room. "I promised you one other room."

We climbed the staircase. He waved his hand with aplomb and the door at the top of the stairs opened.

"Your bedchamber, dearie."

I stepped into a room filled with golds and blues with hints of red. The large cherry wood bed has four spindle posts without it being a canopy (I hate canopies — they make me feel so claustrophobic). The matching wardrobe stands prominently in the room without being obnoxious in its design. A cushioned chair with ottoman in the same gold, red and blue upholstery of the room is next to the bed by the bay window. From this chair, I have a gorgeous view of the countryside and a night sky filled with stars. I sat down on the bed, which comfortably gave while still providing support.

"So, what do you think?" he asked.

I looked around my new room in wonder. I gulped and opened my mouth, trying to find the right words. The pause added an unintended dramatic effect. "I think that if I could have my dream library and my dream bedroom, it still wouldn't be as perfect as these rooms."

His face softened at my answer. He stared at me as my eyes drank in the sights of the bedroom and the library beyond the doorway. Finally my gaze stopped on him and became quizzical as I wondered why he was looking at me that way. His face soon hardened once more.

"Your dream may turn into more than a nightmare," he warned. "I will make you work for these luxuries."

I hugged the book to my chest. What did that mean?

"I … I will be the best caretaker to this castle that I can be," I cautiously answered, stressing the word 'castle'.

He nodded. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

He bowed and backed out of the room.

"Rumpelstiltskin?"

He turned in the doorway.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, dearie." He closed the door behind him. I heard his footsteps descend the stairs.

And so my first day is complete. It wasn't as bad as I feared. Let's hope I can say the same for all the days that follow.

* * *

_January 2_

_7am_

I just woke up and the first thing I see hanging from my wardrobe is the outfit, just as I described! It has the finest detailing and they even included a brown trim on the bodice that matches the color of my hair! I'm finally free of the gold satin frock! I'm going to put it on right now.

Oh gods, the time! I have to go!

_10am_

As I rushed downstairs, I passed through the collection room. Rumpelstiltskin was already sitting in his chair.

"Cutting it close, I see," he noted.

I answered by twirling around and curtseying with flourish in my new clothes. "What do you think?"

"It's not horrible," he noted dryly.

"Well, I think it's spectacular."

He shrugged. "You're the one wearing it." He pointed to the clock on his right. "And the clock is ticking."

I arrived in the kitchen just as the farmer's wife was dropping off her delivery. I raced into the collection room and placed a hot bowl of porridge (complete with a large smiley face, of course) in front of him just as the clock struck eight. He looked at me and smiled.

"Phew – you just made it." He checked inside the bowl for the required smiley face. "It would have been tragic if I had to send you back to the dungeon in your new dress."

I smirked and turned on my heel to leave the room, for I still needed to put the farmer's groceries away.

But Rumpelstiltskin was in the mood for conversation. And unfortunately for him, it was not the lighthearted variety he was hoping for.

"My, do you snore," he began.

I froze. I turned back to him in confusion. "Excuse me?"

"You snore," Rumpelstiltskin repeated after swallowing a bite. "Not like a wild animal, now mind you, but more so than one would expect of a lady."

I felt my blood boiling and rising to my cheeks. "And you know this because…"

And then suddenly I realized that the dress and accoutrements didn't just walk or appear in my room on their own. He brought them in when they were delivered and left them for me as I slept.

I was immediately repulsed. And the feeling was evident on my face. "You told me that is MY room." I found it hard to catch my breath.

He became defensive. "Under MY roof. I see no reason why I should not enter whatever room I want whenever I wish it."

I stepped forward. "And what about privacy?

Rumpelstiltskin sneered. "You are a prisoner. You don't have any right to privacy."

I sputtered. "So … so that gives you the right to spy on me when I'm sleeping?"

Rumpelstiltskin shifted uncomfortably in his chair. His sneer changed to a look of confusion.

"What's next?" I continued. "Coming into a room while I'm taking a bath just because it happens to be under YOUR roof?"

His facial muscles twitched. But I wasn't done with him yet.

"I am following all your rules. I am working hard to be a good caretaker. I am here forever and I am never leaving. Can't you let me sleep in peace? What you did … it makes me very uncomfortable." My voice was barely a whisper. "Please don't do that again."

I tried to hold back tears. He had the decency to look away.

"Dearie, calm down. I didn't mean you any offense. I … I won't do that again."

"Thank you."

And now I'm back in the kitchens trying to compose myself. I really can't dwell on it anymore; I've got to get the groceries away. He knows how I feel now and hopefully he will respect that going forward.

And hopefully I can get a good night's sleep tonight without thinking or worrying about it. With the work I've scheduled, I need to be as well-rested as I can be.

_11pm_

I tackled my first full day of cleaning the castle. I got done what I needed to and stayed on schedule, which was no small task. He was actually out most of the day, so we had very little contact. Dinner is over, the dishes are washed and I am in the library now. I'd love to read tonight, but I just feel so exhausted. Good night!

* * *

_January 3_

_1am_

I just heard a noise outside my door and it jolted me awake. I'm so nervous about him coming into the room. There is definitely someone out there on the other side of my bedroom door! As I write with one hand, I have the other on the candlestick, ready to whack him with it if he tries to enter.

Now I hear footsteps disappearing. And the library door clicked shut.

What was that all about?

Ok, I'm back. Still clutching the candlestick, I opened my bedroom door. No one was there. The library itself also looked empty. I took a step out and nearly stumbled over a pair of beautiful blue shoes that match my dress. They have a strap for functionality and a heel for styling that's also chunky for practicality. They are beautiful, well made and sensibly feminine.

Maybe he's beginning to understand me after all.


	4. Tackling the Challenges

_January 4_

_9:30am_

Just a few days ago, I noted that it's amazing how much things can change in 24 hours.

I still stand by that statement today.

Yesterday, Rumpelstiltskin and I spent a great deal of time talking about the castle and its history that soon turned into an enjoyable conversation about castles in general. In the evening the discussion turned toward castle occupants and their political motivations. He seemed pleasantly surprised with the breadth of my knowledge. I got very little work done, but there is no one in my village who I could ever have a such a truly intellectual conversation with, so yesterday for me was like a glorious breath of fresh air.

Since I used the chipped teacup yesterday, I went to grab it again this morning, ready to engage in another stimulating tete a tete. He went to grab a cup at the same time.

Our hands touched.

I instantly felt a shock. His skin felt smooth, hard and cold, like a porous metal. The feeling left me disoriented.

He looked unsettled as well. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"I … I was just going to use the chipped cup." I couldn't stop the nagging feeling that he was asking me something else, however.

He stepped toward me and picked up the cup, exuding intensity. "No, I will use that cup."

I gave him a quizzical look as he poured the tea. "You don't have to do that. It's my fault that it's broken."

He shrugged and leaned against the table, the cup of tea in his hands. "Your lips could be cut from it. We wouldn't want that." He sipped the tea and stared into the fire.

I stared at him. Something had changed. I couldn't put my finger on what and I wished that I could.

After a moment's silence, he stood and turned to me. "I am very busy today," he stated. "And I think you didn't get much work done yesterday, am I right?"

I felt my heart sink. "Yes, that's true."

He walked to his chair and sat in it. "Then we should get to it then."

I nodded sadly. "Yes. Yes, of course. I'll go get your breakfast right now."

I rushed out of the room, but as soon as I left, my steps slowed as my befuddlement grew. It felt like he was pushing me away. Did I do something wrong? And why do I suddenly feel so wretched?

It's time to lose myself in my work — and the heck with self-reflection. I'm going to take a brief hiatus from writing in you, diary, until things become more settled. Then maybe I can start figuring things out again.

* * *

_January 14_

_10:30pm_

I'm in a set routine now and things are running more smoothly. The first two weeks have been hard, but not as hard as I feared. I am thankful that I paid attention in the kitchen when the cooks were preparing meals for dinner parties and such. Cooking for two feels like nothing in comparison — and even Betsy Peadie herself couldn't find fault with what I've done. I've burned a few things, but nothing I couldn't redo before mealtime.

I've learned how Rumpelstiltskin prefers his meals prepared (he likes his bread buttered on both sides, but really, how surprising is that) and if he mentions craving a dish I'm unfamiliar with, I scour the library looking for recipes. Rumpelstiltskin does not have a refined culinary palate like my father and some of his knights have, and for that I'm grateful. He's a meat-and-potatoes-type man, and often requests hearty stews, which are quite perfect on a cold winter's day and easy enough to make. Occasionally he'll say something is too salty or not salty enough, but most of his comments focus on presentation rather than taste. Once I arranged the peas into a "Hello" which made him chuckle. Then a few days ago I stacked green beans into the shape of a castle and he hooted in delight. Sometimes he is so much like a five-year-old! Almost every night since then he has asked, "When are we having green beans again?" And of course, I must always use the chipped cup: I could serve him swill water, and as long as it was in that teacup, he'd be happy. If I ask for feedback and hear, "I didn't hate it", that's the highest praise.

Laundry has been more challenging, and I have not been able to find the time other than Sunday afternoon to do it in. Dear Lord, please forgive me for being unable to commit a whole day to you. I'm sure Betsy Peadie is praying enough for both of us anyway. I already ruined two of Rumpelstiltskin's shirts and a pair of his pants, so perhaps that is my punishment. I think what saved me from his wrath is that all my free time has been spent with my nose in a book about proper laundering techniques. I can handle fine delicates, but stains are another matter entirely. Maybe with practice, I can work laundry into another part of the week.

Every few mornings, I wake to find a gift on the other side of my closed bedroom door. Getting out of bed every morning and racing to the door to see if today is a "gift day" has become one of my guilty pleasures. My shoes were the first gift. I can be on my feet all day working and even by the end of the day I feel like I've been walking on air. That is such a blessing and makes my life so much easier!

I tried to thank Rumpelstiltskin for the shoes, but he looked extremely uncomfortable with me mentioning it. Like acknowledging the gift verbally is somehow a bad thing. I've learned that the best way to thank him for his gifts is to use them well in front of him and not say a word about it. Rumpelstiltskin is very much an "actions speak louder than words" kind of man, so I have to let my actions speak for me. It's a very strange dance we do.

The next present I received was a sterling silver hairbrush. So that night I sat in front of the fire brushing my hair, and he pretended not to watch me. After that, I found hair ribbons and barrettes — both worn the next day without another word.

Our routine has settled into only chatting at meal times. I share information about my day and he occasionally comments or teases, but he doesn't talk much about what he's been up to. Then we go our separate ways. After dinner, he spins while I wash the dishes and then retreat to the library. But tonight, I thought better of it. Yes, the library chairs are more comfortable, but they are not good company. Sometimes just being in the same room with someone else is all you need to stave off loneliness.

So I grabbed a book from the library and walked to the collection room. As he spun, I placed the book on the table, sat in his chair and read. He kept stealing glances at me and I tried not to steal any of him, but that's hard to do when someone keeps looking at you.

He finally rose and walked over to the table. He poured himself a cup of tea — into the chipped cup, of course.

"The book about Boudicca?" he asked.

"Huh?" I replied. "Oh, that's long finished." I flipped the page.

"And what's that?"

"A book about modern medical practices," I answered. "My hands have become painfully chapped from the dish washing and laundry and I'm wondering what I can do about them."

He looked aghast. "Don't read that! Those quacks know nothing about effective treatments!" He shook his head and mumbled something about leeches.

"Oh?" I asked, smiling. I had finally engaged him.

We then talked for hours about medical practices in our land and what other physicians are doing elsewhere. Soon we were both sitting on the table with the book between us as we referred to it. The subject soon turned to how to cure minor afflictions and I started to tell Rumpelstiltskin about a boy from my village who stuttered.

"There's one boy from my village, Charlie Afton, who has a stutter. Betsy Peadie used to call him Ch-Ch-Ch-Charlie, but he never reacted to her teasing. Then one day he sat behind me in chapel, and he sang so splendidly without a single stutter. And I turned to him after service and said, 'Charlie, you really have a beautiful voice. I wonder if your stutter would disappear if you tried to sing your way through whatever you needed to say.' Then Gaston rushed over because heaven forbid I talk to someone with a …"

I paused, catching myself before I said anything unladylike. Rumpelstiltskin smiled though, knowing what I was going to say.

"Well, someone who is male," I finished. "But Charlie thought he'd get made fun of even more for doing that. He admitted that he had been thinking about coming to see you, but I talked him out of it."

Rumpelstiltskin rubbed his chin. "Oh, I would have helped him. He may not have liked the payment. It depends on how desperate he was to get rid of his stutter."

"Desperate?" I asked.

Rumpelstiltskin nodded. "I only work with the most desperate souls," he explained. "They have the most to gain without realizing they also have the most to lose."

I replayed that statement in mind and tried to equate to my own situation.

"Like my father losing me."

He stared into the fire and nodded. Then he looks at me askance. "But he wasn't the one I made the deal with now, was he."

"True," I conceded. "I stand by my decision. And I think I may have gotten the better bargain. I mean, look at my gorgeous room, fabulous library, the gifts that appear mysteriously at my door." I paused and looked at him for a reaction, but he was unphased. "My family and friends are safe. And you are stuck with me making you eat your vegetables."

I elbowed him. I thought he'd engage me in playful banter, but he remained silent. Finally he spoke.

"Belle?"

"Mmm?"

"Why do you care about stuff like that?"

I paused, confused at his question. "Well, you hired me to be your caretaker."

"Ah. Because it's your job." He stared into the fire and an uncomfortable silence descended.

I'm not quite sure what happened. Yes, I'm doing it because it's my job, but that doesn't seem to be the only reason I'm doing it. And yet, I can't think of anything to say.

"Am I not doing it well?" I finally asked.

His shoulders sagged and he looked at his hands. "You're not doing terribly." He cleared his throat and put the empty teacup back on the tray. "It's getting late," he said abruptly. "I should head upstairs." He started to walk toward the doors.

I hopped off the table and called out after him. "Good night."

He paused briefly to turn back to me. "Good night." And then a few seconds later, he was gone and the doors closed behind him.

I felt strangely empty and alone just then, but I replayed the conversation in my head as I headed to the kitchen to watch the teapot and cup, and felt more comforted. I'm now upstairs in bed. I got my second wind talking to Rumpelstiltskin, but now exhaustion is setting in. Good night indeed!

* * *

_January 15_

_6:30am_

Good morning, diary! I am about to go to my door and see if today is a gift day … I am getting so spoiled! I really must not get so giddy every morning. I'm sure there's nothing there. Maybe. Oh, I don't want to get my hopes up!

Yes! It IS a gift day! Hand cream! Oh, he remembered my comment about my hands being chapped! He's so thoughtful! And there must be magic in this cream because in just one application my hands look and feel amazing again!

There's no doubt about it: I got the better deal in this bargain.


	5. Missing Papa's Birthday

_January 31_

_7am_

I woke up early this morning and watched the sunrise from the collection room. I tried to open the curtains, but had no success, so I ducked under them and wrapped them around me, mentally noting that I needed to look into fixing them so they'd open.

Today is my father's birthday. On this day every year since I was a child, we've had a ritual where I wake him up early so I can be the first to wish him a happy birthday. He grabs a cup of tea and we watch the sunrise together. Later in the day I host a party in the village. With the newfound protection from the ogres, there's even more cause for celebration. I wonder what the villagers have planned and how everyone is doing without me.

_[tear drops spread across the page]_

Suddenly, this is affecting me even more than I thought it would. Have I been kidding myself that I'm happy here? Have I just been trying to make the most of things, like I've been properly trained to do since birth? I am treated well, but today, all I want to do is go home and be by Papa's side on his special day. I miss Gaston and the other lunkhead knights, and even Betsy Peadie. How sad is that?

I suppose I'm going to have a day like this every now and then.

_10am_

I sat in Rumpelstiltskin's chair, wrote the above entry in my diary and cried. When I finished, I stood, wiped away my tears — and saw Rumpelstiltskin standing in the doorway. He looked at me with a mixture of discomfort and disgust.

I pretended that everything was fine to alleviate the tension.

"Good morning," I grabbed my diary and shoved it into my pocket as he walked toward his chair. "Ready for your breakfast or would you like to start with just tea for now?"

"Breakfast," he answered. He sat and tried to avoid eye contact with me. I hurried out of the room. When I returned, his expression had changed to concern and curiosity. I placed the breakfast in front of him.

He touched my wrist before I could turn away. "Belle?" he asked.

His skin against mine was yet another shock to an already emotionally overloaded system. I wouldn't look at him, but from the corner of my eye I could see him looking at me, wordlessly asking me what was wrong.

"Today is my father's birthday," I explained.

"Oh," he answered, releasing my wrist. He paused to digest the information. "Do you tend to have an elaborate celebration?"

I nodded. "Yes. I imagine it will be even more so now that the village knows it is safe from the ogres."

I didn't want to talk about it anymore. Not in front of him. Not in such a vulnerable state.

"Now if you don't require anything else…" I began.

But he interrupted me. "I have some errands to run today. And as luck would have it, I'll be going past your village. I'd be happy to deliver a letter from you to him, if you care to write one."

My eyes gleamed and finally met his. "Really?"

"It's been a month," he answered. "I'd say a letter is in order."

I grinned. "I'll go write one right now and have it ready before you leave."

And I rushed off to do it. Here is the result:

_Papa,_

_Happy birthday! I'm so sorry I cannot be with you today; this letter will have to suffice as your present from me. It's not silver or gold, but I'm sure my best wishes are just as cherished._

_Please know that I am treated well here. I have the castle in tip-top shape. I've been given a beautiful bedroom off a three-story library. You know me, Papa; I'm a disciplined woman, but it takes a great deal of resolve to get my work done and not live in that library 24/7! I am happy here, as happy as one can be under the circumstances, and even after a month, I still don't regret anything._

_I know you don't understand why I made the decision I did. The answer is so that I could give you and the villagers today — a day of joyous celebration free from worry for all the days to come. I don't know if I'll be able to write to you again or even if I'll be able to hear from you. But please know that I love you very much and I always will. Happy birthday, dear Papa._

_Criss cross applesauce,_

_Belle_

'Criss cross applesauce' was a saying we used when I was a girl, to say we loved each other when knights and villagers were around. It's my way of letting him know I wrote this letter and that I'm not under duress.

_11am_

I just gave Rumpelstiltskin the letter and I'm watching him walk away now. I feel so reinvigorated! Not because he's walking away, mind you (although he does have a nice bum for me to enjoy the view), but because I can honor my obligations and still give my father a wonderful birthday gift: the chance to know that I am alive and well.

… Did I just write that Rumpelstiltskin has a nice bum?

I think I've done enough writing for today.

* * *

_February 1_

_6:30am_

I wonder … could today be another gift day? And could it be … Let me go check.

It is! And it's the best gift so far: a letter from my father!

I raced back to the bed, ripped it open and read it eagerly.

_Dearest Belle,_

_Your letter to me was the best birthday present I received. I am happy you are doing well in your new environment. The castle just isn't the same without you, and you are sorely missed._

_Your good friend Betsy Peadie is filling in for some of your duties and sends her regards._

I rolled my eyes. She's probably in seventh heaven that I've left.

_She is settling into her new role nicely, but of course, she isn't you._

_Gaston is taking your departure the hardest. He is heartbroken, but undeterred in his belief that he'll someday be reunited with you …_

Of course he is. He's delusional.

_… and bring you back here where you belong._

I blinked. Where I belong. I considered that phrase carefully.

I moved to the chair and stared out the window, my knuckles pressed to my lips.

The truth is, I haven't belonged there for some time. I did once, when I was child, but I've outgrown that life. My father and I haven't been on the same wavelength for several years. I fingered the charm on my gold necklace (a gift from Papa for my thirteenth birthday), brought my knees to my chest, and lamented the loss of the old days.

I am not pining for my village; I'm pining for my childhood. It's only through leaving my childhood home that I've realized how far behind me those years are.

And what about the years to come? Where is my place in the world? Well, surprisingly, I feel like I belong when I'm with Rumpelstiltskin — at least when he has his guard down. In a way, my village was a different sort of prison — it's just that Rumpelstiltskin's is more enjoyable. Even with all his unspoken rules, I'm freer to be myself.

My father ended his letter with his love, and I pressed it into the back of the diary.

I know I'm not going to feel homesick again.

_10am_

I walked into the collection room and toward the chair, where I knew Rumpelstiltskin was sitting and waiting for me. I placed my hands on the chair's rungs and spun to the side so I could see him.

He looked up at me. "And how are you feeling today?"

My hands descended the spindles and I lightly squeezed his shoulders. "Much better."

His lips pursed into a smile. "Good."

I stood at attention. "Breakfast or just tea?" I asked.

"Tea for now."

I nodded and turned away.

"And bring some for yourself as well," he called after me. "I … I think I'll have a leisurely breakfast this morning."

This was his code for saying he'd like to spend the morning chatting with me. I smiled demurely.

This is where I belong. This is my home.


	6. Tuesdays with Rumpelstiltskin

**A/N: Dedicated to all those who are frustrated about having to wait another week to see "The Return" when it's Robert Carlyle's birthday weekend — and to**** all those who miss #CarlyleTuesdays — you'll see why by the end. :-)**

_February 8_

_1pm_

This morning I was in Rumpelstiltskin's bedroom putting laundry away (I have finally mastered the laundry and I'm able to fit it in on Thursday mornings now) when I came across a child's outfit packed carefully and tenderly away in the back of his wardrobe.

What do you think that means? Is it his or did he have a son? It appears to be old, but how old is anyone's guess.

I wish I could ask him, but we don't have that kind of relationship yet. It would be against all those unspoken rules. If I break them, he pulls away, and I value his company too much to jeopardize that. Maybe someday he'll trust me and open up enough so that I can ask him. I hope that day comes soon. Until then, it's rampant speculation of my overactive imagination.

I wonder about his childhood. He must have had one, right? Was he human once, a mere mortal? I have a feeling that he was abused and/or neglected as a child, forced to fend for himself. He takes so much joy in the little things I do for him, like the smiley face in the porridge, that it seems he's been starved for attention. He is so guarded that he must have been badly hurt by someone or even several people. That would also explain why he's made his skin impenetrable. So nothing can reach him. So nothing can touch him.

I am sitting in his chair writing and watching him spin. Why does he do it? He seems to lose himself in the movement of the wheel, whisked away to another place and time. A happier time? All of his prized possessions surround him. But why are two puppets among them and why do they hold a prominent position so close to his spinning wheel? Were they beloved toys he played with as a child? The level of detail is astounding and I'm sure they were expensive and time-consuming to produce, but to me they look like they are frozen in fear, so I can't see how any child would enjoy playing with them.

What happened in his life to make him the way he is today?

I wish I could talk to him about these things.

_2:30pm_

"What things?" he asked.

"I'm sorry?"

He stood up and strutted toward me. "You just said 'I wish I could talk to him about these things'."

I blanched. Did I say what I wrote out loud?

He grinned at my apparent shock. "I've watched you writing before, and sometimes you mumble what I can only assume are key phrases." He sat on the table. "What is it that compels you to put the quill to bound parchment? Complaints about me?"

I bristled, but tried to appear nonchalant. "No, not at all. I have nothing much to complain about."

He leaned toward me. "Nothing much?" he asked, emphasizing the last word. "Meaning you do complain. So what is it that you write?" He performed a high-pitched imitation of my voice. "'Dear diary, I ruined two shirts and a pair of pants. I'm going to use this book as a shield in case he tries to turn me into a toad, which I richly deserve.'"

"Excuse me," I said with mock consternation, "I am better at laundry now. And no, it's more like, 'Dear diary, if he enters this bedroom while I'm trying to sleep, I will bash his head in with this candlestick.'"

He leaned back and looked impressed. His fingers waved. "Well, now I'll have to try that just to see if it happens."

"Let me save you the trouble," I replied, placing the diary in his hands. He looked amazed. "Go ahead. See for yourself. You have my permission to read it."

I folded my arms across my chest and stared at him defiantly. There was nothing within it for me to feel embarrassed about, even my last entry speculating about his past. If he wanted to answer my questions, he could; if not, he could ignore them with no harm done. The rest of the diary was recounting events of the past six weeks with occasional personal commentary, but nothing scandalous.

And then I remembered the passage where I said he has a nice bum.

He studied the cover of the diary and did not look at me, which was just as well because the horror I felt at such a realization must have been palpable.

He handed the book back to me and softly uttered, "No, no … these are your personal thoughts and … I should not intrude. There … is nothing that I need to know."

He excused himself and left the room to work in his lab. As soon as he was gone, my whole body turned rubbery in relief.

There's gaining trust — and then there is personal mortification. How would he even react to such news? I could not think of a single positive scenario.

I guess some things are best kept private. I won't be offering my diary to him again, but I hope the offer is appreciated and that it results in greater intimacy —friendship intimacy, of course.

Despite the nice bum. (Hey, at least I can laugh about it now.)

* * *

_February 13_

_7pm_

Today is a Tuesday, and Tuesday afternoons mean I'm cleaning Rumpelstiltskin's lab. This is fast becoming one of my favorite parts of the week because I see all the fascinating things he's working on. Today he has a large cauldron in the center of the room in which he's brewing some sort of potion.

"You need love," I noted.

"Hmm?" he asked. He peered at me through rows of glass containers that distorted the features of his face.

I pointed to the empty portion of a display shelf that featured a heart underneath it.

"Oh, that." He returned his attention to the cauldron. "I'll have it soon enough."

I finished dusting the shelf and walked over to him.

"What are you making?" I asked.

I figured he'd ignore my question or brush it off, so I was surprised when he answered.

"A potion that makes people forget the one they love. Erases love from their heart completely."

I squinted my face in disgust. "Why would anyone want that?"

"You'd be surprise," he responded dryly. "Tomorrow is my busiest day of the year. A lot of lonely souls are about to be painfully reminded just how lonely they are." His eyes gleamed. "And that's when they come knocking. Asking if I can make so-and-so fall in love with them. But it's not possible; no one can — at least so far. What I can do, however, is take away their pain and their memories — for a price."

The clear liquid inside the cauldron bubbled and fizzled.

"By sunset tomorrow," he began, "I will have sold all of this potion."

I scratched my head in confusion. "Don't people worry about the repercussions?"

Rumpelstiltskin's eyes met mine. "Repercussions?" he asked. "The repercussions don't matter to them. Only the end result: they will be stronger. They will no longer be slaves to their feelings, to love's torture. Love pretends that it is delicate, but don't be fooled: it's powerful and fickle. It's tricky and elusive. But not for long. Some day I will be able to bottle it. To control it," he attested. His gaze returned to the cauldron and I could see the reflection of the contents bubbling in his eager eyes. "And once you can do that, you can do anything."

The vitriol in his voice surprised me. I wanted to argue, but it seemed useless in his current state.

Instead, I said, "Well, I wish you luck in obtaining it." Then I finished cleaning and left the room.

* * *

_February 14_

_3pm_

Here's my dilemna:

Last week, Rumpelstiltskin arrived home with five pounds of a substance called cocoa powder from a far away land. The powder can be used to make a hot beverage called chocolate. He doesn't know, however, that I've been experimenting with it in cake recipes. And this afternoon I think I achieved the perfect chocolate cake.

So do I present the cake tonight of all nights? It is after his busiest day of the year, so it would be a nice treat from that perspective. But from another perspective, the timing could be … misinterpreted.

I don't even know if he'll be home for dinner tonight. When I asked him last night, he absently answered that he wasn't sure.

Here's what I'm going to do. I will leave the cake out on the collection room table. If he gets home before 9pm, then we'll eat the cake. If not, it can wait a day.

Sounds like a plan to me.

_10pm_

Rumpelstiltskin walked through the collection room doors at 8:58pm.

"And how was your day vanquishing love?" I asked him.

"Very successful." He plopped down in his chair and propped his feet on the table. "I saved several people today. I'd say it was a new record."

"Mmmhmm," I answered.

He noticed the cake at the center of the table. "What's this?" he asked.

"A chocolate cake," I answered. "I made it."

He crumpled his face. "And what possessed you to?"

I stammered, "I … I just wanted to. If you don't want to try it…"

"Oh no, I do," he interrupted eagerly, brushing his feet off the table and sitting at attention. "I just … what's the occasion?"

I had been preparing for this question all day. I cut him a slice and presented it to him.

"Happy Busiest Day of the Year," I wished him.

He smiled and took a bite. Then he beamed and spoke with his mouth full. "This has to be the best thing I've ever tasted."

I sighed in relief and relaxed.

He swallowed. "And how many bags of cocoa powder did I lose in the pursuit of culinary perfection?"

I blushed. "Just one." I paused. "And a half. Well, maybe three-quarters."

He cackled and motioned with his fork at the plate. "You're lucky this is so good."

I beamed and took another bite. Then he looked at me oddly.

"Oh, um, you, uh, have …"

"What?" I asked.

"Chocolate icing right here," he pointed to his right cheek. I rubbed it but didn't remove anything. Finally he lightly rubbed his thumb down my cheek.

"There, got it," he announced. Then he licked his thumb.

The action was appalling and appealing at the same time. I cannot tell you why or how something could be both simultaneously. But it was.

Before I could reflect on it further, he decreed, "I think this should be a regular thing. Every Tuesday evening. Sitting in here and eating chocolate cake." His eyes gleamed. "Provided you don't use all the cocoa powder."

I laughed. I decided against telling him that today was actually Wednesday and not Tuesday. "No, the experimenting stage is over. I know the quantity to use now. We should have enough for awhile." I took another bite. "I can handle making a cake a week, but I'm not sure my waistline can."

"Actually, that's to your favor," he suggested. "You can trick that silly dressmaker into coming over one day and taking your place. With similar girths, I won't know the difference."

He held the fork in his mouth and elbowed me. I elbowed him back.

A question burned on my mind, and since he appeared to be in such a good mood, I decided it was worth asking — if I approached it lightheartedly.

"Have you ever had another girl here before me? One that you turned into a toad perhaps?"

Rumpelstiltskin looked at his plate. "No. I haven't," he answered softly.

I couldn't help myself. "Then why now?" I asked. "And why me?"

He sighed heavily and looked at the clock. "It's getting late and I've had a busy day." He slid off the table. "Good night, Belle. And thank you for the cake."

He left the room — and left me with my questions unanswered.

* * *

_February 15_

_7am_

This morning, a small rectangular box greeted me when I opened my bedroom door. The box was marked with a bow and note:

"So you can complain with greater ease"

I lifted the cover of the box and found a small gold wand with a blue grip and a strange point. I pricked my finger against the point and a blue spot appeared on my finger.

Ink!

I'm using this strange device now to write. And I can keep writing without dipping a quill!

No complaints from me right now. But the day has just begun…


	7. Falling for You

**A/N: This is my favorite chapter so far. I hope it is yours as well. Enjoy and please review if you have a chance! :-)_  
_**

_February 27_

_8pm_

It took me all morning to find a way to disconnect the rolling ladder from the library and transport it to the collection room. It's been four weeks since I said I wanted to take down the curtains, and I still haven't done it yet. Now I see why.

I finally arranged the ladder and climbed it. The curtain still would not open.

Please note that during this whole ordeal Rumpelstiltskin was sitting just feet away, spinning and completely oblivious to all that I was doing.

After being so ignored, I had no qualms about breaking the unspoken rules and asking a personal question.

"Why do you spin so much?" I asked.

He looked at me askance.

"Sorry, it's just," I paused, "you've spun more straw into gold than you could ever spend."

He quietly answered, "I like to watch the wheel. It helps me to forget."

"Forget what?" I asked.

He paused and looked straight ahead. "I guess it worked," he cackled.

I chuckled and shook my head. I tugged the curtain once more.

Rumpelstiltskin stopped spinning and rose from his stool. "What are you doing?"

"Opening these. It's almost spring. We should let some light in." Still unsuccessful, I added, "What did you do, nail them down?"

"Yes," he answered matter-of-factly, as if nailing curtains to stone was commonplace.

I tugged twice more. At the second tug, the rod disconnected from the wall. Suddenly I was sailing through the air sideways.

Straight into Rumpelstiltskin's arms.

He blinked into the sunlight. Then he turned his head to look at me.

I'd never been this close to a male before — at least one I'm not related to. My father used to carry me that way when I was very young, but those days were long gone.

I'd like to say that my heart was racing from the surprise of the fall. But I think – and this is scary to admit – that my heart rate increased being in Rumpelstiltskin's arms. I could see the gold glints on his skin as I quickly scanned his face, his neck, the top of his chest. I became breathless, but somehow found my voice to squeak out an awkward, "Thank you." I tried not to show how overloaded my senses had become.

It didn't help when my hand brushed the skin on the back of his neck. And this could have been my imagination, but I think I felt his heart beating as well against my hip.

His face twitched. He moaned and released my legs, surprising me out of my reverie. His entire lower half stiffened as he backed away from me. I hoped the effort of catching me hadn't strained him.

"Thank you," I repeated more distinctly. I dusted myself off with the palms of my hands, as if the feel of his skin against mine would so easily dissipate.

"No matter," he dismissed.

"I'll put the curtains back up."

He hesitated. "Uh … there's no need. I'll get used to it." And he walked back to his spindle looking dazed.

I stared at a spot on the wall, emblazing the memory of just seconds before into my brain, and smiled.

I folded the first curtain neatly and moved the ladder to tackle the second one. I'd only gotten to the second rung when Rumpelstiltskin growled in frustration and jumped up.

"No, no, I'm not going to catch you again," he stated emphatically.

I stepped down in confusion.

He looked at the ceiling, held out a hand and sighed. "Give me your shoes."

I did as he requested and he placed them on the table. He closed his eyes and waved his hands over them. The shoes glowed brightly then faded to their original blue.

He smirked as he brought them back to me, the heels dangling from his fingers.

"What did you do?" I asked.

"Put them on and I'll show you."

I slipped them on. They didn't feel any different.

He pointed toward the curtains. "Walk up the wall."

I blinked in disbelief. "What?"

"You heard me. Try it."

I approached the wall and hesitated. He motioned me to go forward.

I put one foot against the wall and hopped up. I expected my other foot to return to the floor, but it didn't.

I was standing on a wall!

He cackled at my surprise. "This way you can reach high areas without falling. It will come in handy when you're cleaning … or looking for books." He smiled wryly.

"Thank you," I cried from above as I reached the top of the curtains. They were definitely easier to tackle from this vantage point.

Rumpelstiltskin walked back to his spindle with his arm up at an angle. "I can't have you falling and cracking open your skull. An entire village saved for less than two months of work?" He tapped his tongue against the roof of his mouth and turned to face me. He sat back down on his stool. "You can't escape our deal that easily."

I shook my head and rolled my eyes in mocking at him.

He pivoted on his stool and returned to spinning. I removed the curtains, stepped off the wall, and started walking out of the room to put them in storage.

"One other thing," he shouted after me. I turned to him as he looked over his shoulder. Then his gaze turned upward. "You might want to be avoid walking on the ceiling when you're wearing a dress," he quipped.

I laughed. "Duly noted."

We exchanged a small smile before I left the room.

* * *

_March 5_

_2pm_

He has been avoiding me. And when he's not avoiding me, he's ignoring me. I can't get two words out of him and he'll barely look at me. I don't know what his problem is.

At first I figured he was having a bad day. Then I became anxious that I'd done something wrong, so I tried being nicer to him, but this only made him more irritable. It's been going on for a week, and I'm sick of it. I'm getting angrier with him with every passing hour.

I finished my morning chores earlier than anticipated, so I retreated to the library. I perused the higher shelves with ease thanks to my shoes, and on the highest shelf I found a book that inspired an idea. I bit the corner of my cheek with glee, took the book from the shelf (boy, was it heavy), raced down the wall and jumped onto the floor.

My pace slowed as I walked into the collection room. I clicked my heels against the stone as loudly as I could.

Of course he didn't move. He just continued sitting at his spindle and spinning.

I stopped in front of Rumpelstiltskin's chair. I held the book high and dropped it onto the table. The loud crash jostled him slightly. He looked at me out of the corner of his eye.

I smiled and slowly descended into his chair. Well, that was a start. But I knew that would never be enough to entice him into acknowledging me. I had something else up my sleeve.

I opened the cover, watching him the whole time. I extended my arm out in front of me, palm up, and rested my elbow against the table. I think I noticed his lips twitch, but that could have been my imagination.

Then I immersed myself into the pages of the book, looking back and forth from it and my palm. After the first minute, I softly whispered, "Hmm, that's interesting." A minute or so later, I added, "Oh, I didn't know that." Finally, I chuckled. "Well, what do you know?"

He mumbled something under his breath and walked over to me. I ignored him. When he was standing over me, I looked up at him in mock surprise.

"Oh, I'm sorry, am I bothering you?" the vitriol dripping from my voice. "I was trying to be quiet."

He sneered. "As evidenced from the way you dropped that book. But you have my attention now. What are you doing?"

I suddenly had a vision of he and I fencing. Touché, Belle. Belle 1, Rumpelstiltskin 0.

"I found this book in the library," I explained, "and I'm trying to read my palm."

"That's in the library?" he asked incredulously.

I nodded.

He sat on the table and looked at my palm. His fingers danced over my hand without touching it.

"You will lead a long life with a captor who will treat you well, provided you treat him well. There – that's your future."

I made a face at him for stating the obvious. "Fine, if you're going to read mine, let me read yours."

And I grabbed his hand. He opened his mouth to object, but then only exhaled deeply.

I traced my finger lightly over his palm. "There's the life line … the head line … but I don't see a love line."

"Surprise, surprise," he sarcastically stated.

"Oh wait, there it is!" Then I gasped as I looked at the outer edge of his hand. "And you have a … marriage line!"

He yanked his hand away from me. "I do not!" He examined his palm and cradled it as if he'd been burned.

"Yes, it's faint. But it's there. HA!" I smacked the back of my hand against his arm. "You have a wife in your future."

He scowled at me. "A wife who probably won't stand for your lip."

I leaned back, reveling in the witty repartee I'd been desperately missing. "Oh no, no lip for her. She would need my sympathy and support to survive being married to you."

The corners of his mouth twitched at my teasing.

He leaned closer to me. "I could say the same thing about your future husband. Except you're stuck here, so you won't ever get one."

I faked offense. "Oh woe is me, I will never marry! I will never get the chance to live with a man and to cook and clean for him …" I stopped in midsentence and smiled cheekily. "Oh wait..."

He gazed at my intently. "I think marriage has more perks than that, dearie."

And I burst out laughing. Seriously unattractive snorts. I put my head down into the book and my whole body shook with the laughter. Rumpelstiltskin cackled at my uncontrolled amusement.

The score is tied.

We talked through lunchtime and then went our separate ways, he to his lab and me to the kitchen. I promised myself I'd get back to work, but only after writing this entry.

It seems things are finally back to normal. At least I hope so.

* * *

_March 9_

_1pm_

Things are far from normal. Oh, he's acting like his normal self again. But I'm not, and that's the problem.

I'm doing girlie things, things I used to make fun of Betsy Peadie for doing. Like how she would always try to touch Gaston when she was talking to him. Yesterday, I found myself laughing and placing my hand over Rumpelstiltskin's. What's worse, I keep recalling that moment he caught me and the events that followed. It's very annoying. It reached its pinnacle this morning as I made breakfast and considered pretending to trip to see if he'd catch me. Unfortunately, common sense didn't stop me; the fact that I possessed shoes that wouldn't let me trip did, however.

And I hate to say it, but the above examples have forced me to admit something.

I am attracted to him.

Oh, that seems so crazy yet cathartic to write. This realization has plagued me, but maybe analyzing why it's happening can help end it.

To start, I am prisoner and he is the only male I ever have contact with. That may have the most to do with it.

Actually, that's not true: I do have contact with two other males — the butcher and the baker – and neither of them makes my heart race. So that possibility doesn't seem as promising.

Could it be because he gives me gifts? No, I'm not materialistic. Gaston used to shower me with presents, and I never cared for him. And I haven't gotten any gifts from Rumpelstiltskin in weeks, unless you count the modifications he made to my shoes.

However, there is one theory that might explain this best.

Years ago when I was supposed to be studying and implementing my etiquette lessons at finishing school ("Oh Belle, why can't you be more like Betsy Peadie? She is so much more refined than you – and a lower class! For shame!"), I was secretly studying ancient civilizations. I read a book about capture bonding, and how females developed feelings for their captors. The theory behind it is that the female body recognizes the need to create a greater variety of life for their offspring to survive, and are thus attracted to their captors who take them beyond the staid confines of the village. So could my body be reacting to that – confusing a chemical produced for survival as love?

But I don't want children! Not even remotely!

I've combed through the library and found several books on capture bonding that I've laid out on the library table and have systematically started flipping through.

There must be a logical explanation within one of these…

_11pm_

"Evolutionary psychology?"

I looked up and was surprised to see Rumpelstiltskin standing in front of me. I was so engrossed in reading that I hadn't heard him come in. He picked up the book of that title on the table.

I whisked it out of his grasp. He instead grabbed another one.

"African Tribal Mating Rituals," he recited with a raised eyebrow.

I bristled but tried to remain composed. I looked out the window, noticed the moon in the sky and tried to change the subject. "What time is it?"

"Past dinner."

I blinked in astonishment. "Oh." My stomach growled loudly.

He heard it. "Yes, I'm hungry and lost track of the time, too."

I rushed to the kitchen and he followed, thankfully. I was worried he'd stay behind to see what else I'd been reading, and I had no idea how I was going to explain it all to him.

I broke a few eggs to cook omelets, the quickest thing I could think of to make.

"So, what is with your light reading?" he asked, sitting in a chair and propping his feet up on the kitchen prep table.

I pushed his feet off and they plopped on the floor. "Just a theory I had on something that I wanted to check." I started furiously whipping the eggs.

"Which is…" he began, flourishing his hand through the air to get me to finish.

I had to think fast on my feet. "The opinions you expressed about love last month got me thinking about love's effects on ancient civilizations and comparing those effects to the ones society experiences today. There seems to be no evolution."

Rumpelstiltskin took a pear out of the fruit bowl. "It's one of love's oldest and greatest jokes. People don't realize that they are in it until they are already in too deep." He took a bite and buried the fruit in the corner of his mouth. "Saps."

"Yes," I agreed, whipping rapidly, relieved that he bought my excuse. "They obviously aren't very self-aware."

After a late dinner, he returned to spinning. I cleaned up quickly and sat in his chair, which was still warm, and I've been writing the above entry ever since.

So what do I like about him that puts him above every other male I've known?

He challenges me — and I have never been challenged in such a way before. I can sit and talk with him about the things I read and he doesn't start to snooze or drool or undress me with his eyes like Gaston did. He is intelligent and creative. It's the little dances we do — our ongoing fencing match through our words and through our actions — that intrigue me.

_11:45pm_

I've figured it out! I'm so exhausted and overtired, but maybe that's what I had to be to see things clearest.

I finished the above entry and then sat back to watch him spin when suddenly I started picturing him as an ordinary man. He's a freelance spinner, traveling from town to town selling his yarn, the finest in all of the surrounding kingdoms, so my father naturally hires him regularly. He dines with us seasonally when the new cloth is produced and ready for selection, and I pine for those three months to pass when I can engage him in intelligent conversation. Soon I seek him out, making specific requests for cloth that are just an excuse to spend time with him. Papa doesn't care or suspect an attachment because one of my responsibilities as his daughter is taking an interest in fashion and clothes. But Betsy Peadie does suspect (she's evil like that) and taunts me until I'm hard-pressed to admit my love for him in public. Rumpelstiltskin overhears my declaration and is stunned. My father is furious and locks me in the tower.

And that's where my fantasy ends. Even in my imagination where he is an ordinary man, I cannot fathom him being in love with me. It's silly and juvenile anyway.

And that's when I had my epiphany: I am attracted to the person he could have been, and not the one he is. In the end, that will be my saving grace: because he is not nor ever will be an ordinary man. Something evil has taken root in him — and that fact will stop me from loving him completely. This is just as well because based on my ridiculous reactions to his mere presence, I'm positive that that my love for him would be the head-over-heels kind (magical shoes notwithstanding) if not properly kept in check.

Phew, what a relief to have that solved! I will be glad when this finally passes!


	8. In His Pants

_March 11_

_11am_

Since arriving, I've done a cursory cleaning of the collection room chandelier by standing on the table, but this morning I realized that I could get into the top nooks and crannies better if I walked on the ceiling.

Of course, as Rumpelstiltskin himself reminded me, I don't want to do that in a dress. But that's all I own.

So I invaded Rumpelstiltskin's wardrobe and took a white puffy shirt and a pair of his leather pants. (All of his pants are leather, so I didn't have a fabric choice.) The burgundy ones looked like they were the most forgiving in the hips, so I changed into those on the spot in his bedroom. Upon reflection, this was a reckless idea (only the first of many that morning, unfortunately) because he could have entered the room at any moment, but he didn't, and I suppose that's all that is important. I'd never worn leather pants before and these were tight! How does he do this day in and day out? Maybe he'd be a happier person if he had pants that weren't constricting the heck out of him.

I put the shirt on, wrapped my hair into a bun and went downstairs to work. I climbed up to the ceiling and easily cleaned the higher areas of the chandelier's crevices, but the midsection was still out of reach. And so I had my second reckless idea of the day.

I jumped to reach the midsection.

Without anything for my shoes to hold onto, I started to fall head first. I screamed and grabbed the chandelier. My legs dropped beneath me and I held on for dear life. The chandelier swung violently and I prayed it stayed attached to the ceiling. When I felt certain that it would, I wrapped my legs around one of the chandelier arms (not an easy feat in leather) and propped myself up. As I quickly finished dusting, I heard rapid footfalls. Rumpelstiltskin ran into the room looking worried.

"Oh, hello," I greeted, as if hanging from a chandelier with his clothes on was an everyday occurrence.

He stopped suddenly at the sight of me. His mouth gaped. Beyond that I didn't see, as I was concentrating on the best way to get down.

I finally decided to untangle my legs from the chandelier arm and let them hang down. This caused the chandelier to swing violently again. I gently lowered myself as much I could, using the lowest chandelier arm as a trapeze. As the chandelier started moving me forward, I jumped down and slid across the length of the smooth, lacquered table. When I noticed I wasn't going to stop, I raised my right foot and placed it against the top of the back of the chair while my left foot hopped and landed on the edge of the seat. The chair tipped over. A few more quick steps slowed me down, and I stopped inches from Rumpelstiltskin. He braced himself to catch me, but there was no need.

"What are you doing?" he asked aghast and wide-eyed, drinking in the sight of me from head to toe.

"I just finished cleaning the chandelier," I announced proudly. "It didn't quite go as planned, but it's clean, and we are both in one piece."

He looked down at my attire. "Are those my … my …?"

I pursed my lips in embarrassment. "I know. I raided your wardrobe. I'm sorry, but you warned me about walking on the ceiling in a dress. I promise to wash the outfit without ruining it."

He just stared. His lack of response made me nervous. I released my hair from its bun and let my hair cascade around me, so I could wrap my finger around one of my curls — my nervous habit of choice. The action caused him to meet my gaze.

"The shirt is lovely," I said, "but I don't know how you move in these pants. They get tighter with every passing minute. I can't wait to get out of them."

His eyebrows rose. He still didn't say a word.

I sputtered. "I'm sure I'll find a way to peel them off me."

He exhaled sharply, raised his arm at a 90-degree angle and turned to leave the room.

"Don't be mad," I called out after him. "I promised you I wouldn't ruin them. I'll have them laundered and looking as good as new."

He pivoted back to me and lowered his arm. "No, don't launder them." He sighed, folded his hands together and avoided looking at me. "You didn't do anything dirty in them." He clenched his eyes and fists shut and quickly rephrased, "I mean, you weren't wearing them that long, so …" His voice trailed off and he gave up trying to explain himself. "Just put them back in my wardrobe … and you can use them whenever you wish."

He left the room and I heard him bolt up the stairs to his lab. I slowly ascended the same stairs and headed toward his bedroom. As if changing in his room wasn't reckless enough, I changed out of the outfit in his room as well — after some squirming. I put the pants and the white puffy shirt back in his wardrobe. I don't plan on wearing them again any time soon.

I'm going to take an early lunch today in hopes that it will help my brain function again. I don't know why I'm so reckless and restless this morning; it's like I'm in a fog that's not lifting. I'll avoid walking on walls and ceilings until these feelings pass — hopefully soon.

* * *

_March 19_

_8:30am_

Rumpelstiltskin hasn't come down for breakfast yet. This is odd. The porridge is getting cold and the molasses smiley face is starting to dissipate.

_9:15am_

There is still no sign of him. The porridge has gone cold. I am going to dump it and check on him.

_9:25am_

I knocked on his bedroom door and got no response. I finally opened the door and went in, but his bedroom was empty. I don't hear any activity coming from the lab. I'm not supposed to enter it without him. But opening the door and peeking inside isn't entering, right?

_9:35am_

I expected his lab to be locked, but it wasn't. I opened the door, cringing that some alarm would trigger. But instead the door creaked open. He wasn't there either.

_10am_

I have just wandered all over the castle and there is no sign of him. This is odd. When he has appointments or errands to run, he lets me know before he goes and is never more than a few hours tops. Where is he?

_12pm_

I have finished my morning cleaning, but I am not preparing his lunch until he returns. He will just have to deal and it will serve him right for not telling me he was leaving or when he would return. I'm making myself a sandwich with some of the roast beef the butcher brought today and putting the pot roast in for dinner. He will just have to fend for himself when he comes home.

_2pm_

It is Tuesday and I am supposed to be cleaning his lab right now. It's one of my favorite parts of the week. I promised that I would not set foot in there without him and I will keep my word. I'll have to switch my schedule with another task instead. The best bet to see him would be if I scrubbed the foyer floor. I don't like the foyer very much: I usually love roses, but the huge centerpiece of roses that never die makes me uneasy.

_3pm_

Foyer floor is scrubbed. Now I've moved onto scrubbing the collection room floor, leaving the doors open so I can hear him when he returns.

_5pm_

Collection room is clean as well. That is enough cleaning for today. Time to take the pot roast out.

_5:45pm_

Delicious pot roast tonight. Instead of eating in the kitchen, I am sitting in his chair in the collection room – and I don't care if he comes in or not.

_5:50pm_

Wow, this is very lonely. How did he deal with the silence in this castle for as long as he did?

_6:30pm_

Dishes and pots washed and dried. I left a plate for him in the icebox. I'm sure with a click of his fingers he'll be able to reheat it himself. I'm retreating to the library to lose myself in a book. I should really enjoy this respite from him. Instead, I feel like I've wasted it with worry. Let's see if I can salvage the rest of the evening.

_6:45pm_

Can't get into this book. Where the heck is he?

_6:50pm_

Is it possible that something could have happened to him? Like, maybe he is trapped somewhere? Or maybe the man who never gets sick actually did become ill while out and about? Maybe his enemies finally caught up with him?

Come on, he's RUMPELSTILTSKIN.

But what if…

_7pm_

I gave up on the book. This is ridiculous. All I'm doing now is pacing.

_7:10pm_

He better be dead. That's the only excuse I'll accept. Because if he's not, he soon will be.

* * *

_March 20_

_1:30am_

By 8:30pm, my patience and nerves had worn thin. I opened the front door and yelled, "If you don't come back this instance, I am walking out this front door and leaving!"

Just as I said the last word, he came into view walking up the castle path.

He brushed past me in the doorway with barely a look. "And I was beginning to think you were one of those rare women who actually kept her word."

I quickly turned around, following on his heels. "Where have you been?"

"Nice to see you too." He walked through the foyer and the collection room tracking mud as he went.

"Was that a test of some kind?" I asked. "To see what I would do without you around for a day?"

He sighed, removed his cloak and draped it over the chair. He grabbed the back of the chair, leaned against it and closed his eyes. "Dearie, as hard as it might be for you to believe, everything I do does not revolve around you."

My eyes widened in surprise at the malice in his statement.

He opened his eyes and looked at his chair. "I have been distracted and neglecting my work lately," he explained. "Today I needed to catch up on my appointments and answer certain pressing pleas for help. So I did."

My fists tightened. "You could have at least left me a note," I seethed.

Rumpelstiltskin stood and turned to me. "And have you loll around all day thinking you have a day off from me? I think not."

His attitude flabbergasted me. "Loll around all day? I scrubbed these floors for three hours, which you are now caking mud all over!"

He looked down. "But you do that on Wednesday."

"Yes! Because what do I do on Tuesday afternoons?"

He flinched when he realized the answer. "Clean my lab."

"Which I'm not allowed into without you. So I didn't. So much for being one of the rare women who actually keeps her word, huh."

He flinched again, the fatigue apparent on his face. "Fine. Then just get me my dinner and a piece of chocolate cake and leave me alone."

"Your dinner is in the icebox. Get it yourself. And there is no chocolate cake."

He reacted as if I had struck him. "But it's Tuesday! I have been looking forward to chocolate cake all day!"

I rolled my eyes. "I didn't have time because I was worried sick about you and wanted to be around to know when you got home. So I scrubbed the floors." I looked at the mess and scowled. "A task that was so well worth doing."

His agitation grew. "Look, I don't have to report to you," he pointed his finger menacingly in my face. "You are supposed to report to me and do as I say. And I say I want chocolate cake."

"And yet you will not get it," I declared, folding my arms in front of me. "Unless you have a spell that can make chocolate cake just the way I do."

He growled in anger and frustration. He lunged forward to try to scare me. "I know a spell that can force you to do everything that I command!"

Oh, he is going there, is he?

I squinted and held my ground. We were only inches apart. I worked hard to keep my voice even. "Then you will get a chocolate cake. But let me tell, that chocolate is going to very bitter and not at all sweet!"

He flinched first and stepped back from me. Then he turned away and stomped out of the room. I heard the front door open and slam shut.

I cursed at the muddy mess he'd left behind. His cloak was also caked in inches of mud. I scowled as I picked it up. I hoped he didn't need it before the next laundry day.

And just then, several pieces of parchment fell out of an inner cloak pocket. I picked them up and read them. I was surprised to discover that they were letters from children. Here are two (spelling mistakes and all) that summarize the contents of the rest best.

* * *

_Dear Rumpelstiltskin,_

_Momma's nose bleeds a lot. She sezs she is fine, but she is orfully tired. Do you think you cud make her bedder? We can't afford medasin. If you make her bedder, I will come live with you. I heer you like to steal children and now you won't have to. If Momma dies, I will have to live with Mrs. Blewitt and beleev me, even with the stories I've hurd abowt you, you wood be bedder than Mrs. Blewitt._

_Your frend,_

_Bobby_

* * *

_Dear Rumpelstiltskin,_

_Could you make a spell that keeps me good all the time? Daddy says he hurts Mommy because I make him angry when I'm bad. I don't want Mommy to get hurt anymore. In return, I'll give you all my candy. I have a good stash and I know you like candy because Mommy says that's why your teeth are the way they are._

_Sincerely,_

_Rachel_

* * *

As I read, I found myself laughing and crying at the same time. Suddenly the mud didn't seem important anymore.

I went to the kitchen and made the best chocolate cake I could, carefully icing it with layers of thick, gooey chocolate frosting. I put it on a glass cake stand and brought it to his bedroom. He is not the only one who can leave gifts at a door.

As I descended the stairs to the foyer, I saw him closing the door to the library. We startled each other.

"Oh, hi, I was just…" I started.

"I just was …" he said simultaneously.

Then we became silent. We both stared at separate spots on the floor and stole glances at each other. I was thankful that he no longer appeared angry.

He stepped aside so I could get to the library door. I stepped in the same direction he did so he could get to the stairs. Then we both tried to course correct. I snickered. It felt like we were dancing. He finally stayed in place as I moved aside for a third time.

"Good night," he mumbled and bolted up the stairs two at a time.

"Good night," I answered, but he was already out of earshot.

I entered the library. The candles lit at my entrance. Even from their low light I could see a glass vase of cherry blossom sprigs in front of my bedroom door.

I climbed the stairs, picked them up and inhaled their intoxicating fragrance. I counted a dozen of them and the note attached to the vase confirmed it:

"For every hour that I made you worry."

I smiled and bit my lip as I wondered about his reaction to the chocolate cake. Will I find an empty cake stand tomorrow?

And so now I am cozy in bed, writing of this account with the cherry blossom sprigs at my bedside.

On a day that I was with him least, I learned what it's like to be him most.

I am a lucky woman.


	9. Second Chance Tuesday

_March 20_

_9am_

I descended the stairs from my bedroom this morning and found the chocolate cake sitting in its stand untouched on the library table. A note read, "For tonight."

I shook my head and smiled. He loves to be enigmatic! What is going on tonight?

I served him his breakfast, sat on the table and adjusted my dress while waiting to hear about this evening's plans. He, of course, proceeded as if everything was normal. My patience wore out quickly and I finally blurted out, "So what is on the agenda this evening?"

He looked up from his porridge. "What makes you ask that?"

I shrugged nonchalantly and grinned. "Oh, just a note I found by a surprisingly uneaten chocolate cake."

His grin matched mine. "It's second chance Tuesday."

"Second chance Tuesday? What's that?" I asked.

"It means that today will be Tuesday," he explained. "With a Tuesday schedule."

I played his words in my mind to ascertain his meaning. Tuesdays were always the days we spent the most time together. "So I'll see you in the lab at 2 today?" I asked. "And we'll have the chocolate cake after dinner?"

"Of course. Because it's Tuesday." He raised his finger. "But that's not all. I have a special evening surprise planned."

My eyebrows rose and I cooed with interest. "Well, then I wouldn't miss it for the world." I slid off the table. I was about to walk out of the collection room to gather the cleaning supplies when I noticed something missing.

The floors in both the collection room and foyer were mud-free. Rumpelstiltskin's cloak, draped over the round table in the foyer, had been cleaned as well.

I turned in the doorway toward him. Of course from that vantage point, all I saw was the back of his chair. But my stomach flipped flopped and stuck in my throat. I walked back to the table in a daze and slowly sat on it, staring into the fire.

It took him a few moments to notice the change in me. He looked at me quizzically.

"What?" he asked.

I was slightly shell shocked by the feeling. I shook my head to try to clear it. "Nothing, nothing. I …"

He smiled in amusement at my state. This left my brain incapacitated and unable to string a sentence together. I quickly looked back at the fire. I pictured him and I in front of it, facing each other and exchanging longing glances.

"You're quiet this morning," he noted as he sipped his tea from his chipped cup.

I shrugged, unable to look away.

He put the cup down. "Are you still angry?"

I shook my head vehemently. In my vision, he was moving in to kiss me.

He picked up his spoon and bristled. "Well, something's got your tongue."

Yes, I thought as I envisioned him kissing me passionately. Yours.

I blinked, trying to rid myself of the image before it progressed further. What a ridiculous overreaction, I told myself. All he did was clean up the mess he made.

I turned away from the fireplace and from him, as if that would help. My hand caressed the lacquered table. A smooth, slippery table. And a different image entered my mind.

I gasped and hopped down. "I'vegottogetsomefreshair," I declared in half a breath (yes, please note the lack of spaces because that's exactly how I said it) and bolted out of the room.

"Oh, sure, don't worry about me," he yelled sarcastically. "I can take care of my own dishes!"

I ran until I reached the battlements. I stopped and leaned over one of the merlons, inhaling the cold air. Before me lay a barren brown landscape now that the snow had melted. But in the distance I saw a beautiful cherry orchard bursting with bright pink hues. The rest of the land seemed to be responding to it, coaxing green buds to grow on bare trees. I was soon feeling calmer — until he arrived by my side.

"Are you unwell?" he asked.

I shrugged and became guarded. "I'll be fine in a minute."

He watched me keenly. "Something is troubling you."

I bit my lip to stop myself from answering. When he realized I chose to remain silent, he turned sadly to walk away.

"I wish I could walk in that cherry orchard," I finally stated. "See the boughs arch over me, their blossoms fanning me with their fragrance. Feel the fallen petals under my bare feet."

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that he looked pained by my words.

"I spent last evening there thinking," he noted. "It … it is a nice spot." He leaned against the battlement merlon as well. "I've lived in this castle for years, and that orchard has never bloomed. I thought it long dead. But this year?" He shook his head in wonder. "This year the entire area is bursting with life and color."

I don't know why, but this news delighted and comforted me. I turned and looked into his eyes. My heart skipped a beat. "So what you're saying is … that we're witnessing something very rare and special."

He looked into my eyes just as intently. "I'd say so."

His gaze was too overwhelming and I glanced away demurely. "Well, I'm happy that I can at least see it from here. It's very beautiful."

"Yes, it is," he agreed, still gazing at me.

I smiled and moved away from the merlon. I started walking to the battlement stairs to head back inside. Rumpelstiltskin followed.

"Better now?" he asked.

"Yes, much." I elbowed him and tried to change the subject. "So no clues about tonight?"

He pretended to ponder my question. Then he resoundingly said, "Nope."

"You are a tease," I accused.

His eyes sparkled. "Well, it takes one to know one."

I laughed and we went our separate ways. I retreated to the collection room and noticed that he really had cleaned his own breakfast dishes.

As if I needed another reason to swoon.

_4pm_

I just left his lab. I only had one embarrassing incident. Considering the thoughts that were running through my head, it could have been much worse.

My sexual fantasy as a teenager was a dark knight entering my bedroom from the window. I never saw his face, but it definitely wasn't a knight I knew. He declared his love for me and asked if he could display his affections toward me physically. I willingly acquiesced. Somehow that dark knight morphed into Rumpelstiltskin as an ordinary man — the daydream I gave up on creating after I envisioned Betsy Peadie tricking me into declaring my love in front of him and in public.

In my imagination, Rumpelstiltskin snuck into my room at my father's castle to confess his true feelings for me as well. He apologized for being so stunned; he just couldn't believe that he'd ever be so lucky to have my enduring love. I told him to forget it — it was in the past — and that the best way to earn my forgiveness was to ravish me.

"You are very distracted today," Rumpelstiltskin noted astutely over one of his glass beakers. "You have been dusting that same spot on the shelf for the past 10 minutes."

I blinked and looked down. I was dusting the empty spot where Rumpelstiltskin hoped to someday display a bottle of true love.

I shrugged. "Yeah, well …" My voice trailed off and I forced myself to think of more intellectual pursuits. I was not about to waste this time pining for him in a daze, barely saying a word when I could be better company than that.

"Tell me about your day yesterday," I suggested. "You were helping children?"

Rumpelstiltskin hesitated. "In a way."

I expected him to elaborate, but he would not.

"In what way?" I finally asked, trying to coax details.

Rumpelstiltskin chose his words carefully. "Children should never have to suffer at the hands of their parents. Nor should they have to pay for their parents' mistakes."

An uptick in his voice caught my attention. "You sound like you speak from experience."

He shrugged and answered cryptically. "More experience than I'd like to admit."

I wondered if he meant he had experience from the perspective of the child or the parent. Or maybe both. I could tell from his body language that his guard was now up, and discussion of the topic would cease. He asked what was for dinner and we stayed on similar safe topics for the rest of the afternoon.

* * *

_March 21_

_2am_

Yes, I'm up rather late. I'm too excited to fall back to sleep. Let me explain.

After dinner and generous portions of chocolate cake for dessert, Rumpelstiltskin rose from his chair with enthusiasm.

"It's time," he announced. He motioned for me to follow him.

"But … but I haven't cleared the dishes!" I sputtered.

"Leave them." Suddenly the dishes disappeared from the table. He placed his hand over mine.

"They are cleaned and put away," he assured. "Come on."

He pulled me along and I rushed to keep up. I don't know if I was more shocked by the disappearing dishes or the feel of his hand around mine.

"You keep this up, I'm going to make you clean the dishes all the time," I teased.

He led me into the library and with a flip of his index finger, a roaring fire appeared in the fireplace. He then went around the room picking up all the pillows and created a pile of them on the rug in front of the hearth.

"We're making a pillow fort?" I asked incredulously.

He cackled at the idea. "No, not quite." Then he lay on all the pillows and stared at the ceiling. I sat down next to him on the rug and looked up.

He waved his hand and the library ceiling transformed into the night sky.

I gasped at the sensational sight. He pointed at the constellations and as he announced them, bright lines appeared that connected the stars.

I strained my neck; I couldn't lie down because he was hogging all the pillows. I scooted away from him and then laid my head against his stomach. I could smell the leather of his vest. It calmed and excited me at the same time.

I braced for him to make a joke or remark, to maybe move away, but he did not. He was quiet for a moment and then continued naming constellations as if nothing happened.

"Do you have a favorite constellation?" I asked.

"Yes," he replied. "But it's not out right now. It is in the summer sky."

I smiled and propped myself up on my elbows so I could see him. "Mine too!" I bit my lip, wondering if he was talking about the same one.

With another wave of his hand, the sky changed. I leaned back against his stomach.

He pointed. "That one – right there."

The lines formed my favorite constellation.

"That is mine as well! Of all the constellations in all the sky…" My voice trailed off.

He smiled nervously. "What are the odds?"

"What makes this one your favorite?" I asked.

He looked pensive and licked his lips before answering. "All cultures view this creature in similar ways. It can travel between various worlds with ease. It can be a part of one world without becoming attached to it."

"Belonging everywhere and nowhere. I can see how that would appeal to you," I teased. "But it is my favorite because of the story of the cowherd and the weaver."

His smile confirmed he knew the story. "I thought you didn't read romances."

"This one I didn't read. My mother told it to me at bedtime when I was a child, before she died. Two lovers are thwarted from being together by a meddling, evil Goddess. The goddess creates a wide river – the Milky Way – to separate them forever."

"And he spends his life finding a way to get her back," he added with a sly smile.

I nodded. "And that constellation reunites them."

Our eyes locked. Finally he exhaled sharply and lay back down on the pillows. He looked at the constellation and I lay back on his stomach. We were silent, lost in our own thoughts.

His voice broke the stillness.

"Cygnus," he announced, and the constellation grew brighter at the mention of its name. "The swan."

As we watched the night sky, several shooting stars flew by. I made a wish on one of them and wondered if he made one as well. The sensation of my hair moving interrupted my thoughts. I looked out of the corner of my eye and saw his fingers entwined in my curls. He gradually unraveled a curl and let it bounce free. Then he raveled the curl around his finger again and repeated the process absent-mindedly.

I smiled and closed my eyes. I breathed in the scent of all things male and sighed happily.

I drifted to sleep and woke up dazed. The room was dark and the ceiling was a ceiling again. I was lying on pillows; when I fell asleep, Rumpelstiltskin must have given me more room. I rolled over and felt an arm curled around my waist. Were we spooning? I turned to face him and my hair brushed against his cheek. His face twitched and he groaned in response.

"Psst. Psst. Rumpelstiltskin."

I raised my arm and waved it, which caused the candles to light.

"Rumpelstiltskin," I repeated. "Wake up. We fell asleep."

His eyes fluttered. "Hmm? Oh!" He jerked his arm away from me and sat up. He brought his knees to his chest and rested his arms on them while rubbing his eyes. "I haven't slept like that since … Well, it's been a long time."

I sat up as well. "We should get to bed," I whispered.

"Huh?" Rumpelstiltskin stared at me wide eyed.

I rose and walked to the spiral staircase. "Good night."

He looked at the floor and sputtered in bewilderment. "Oh right, get to bed. Right. Yes. Bed. My bed. In my room. That's where I'm going. Yes." He rose and dusted himself off. "Good night," he bowed.

I looked at him strangely. Why was he was chattering so nervously?

"Rumpelstiltskin?"

He stopped, his hand on the door handle to the foyer, and turned.

"Thank you for such a lovely evening."

He nodded anxiously. "Yes, well," his voice trailed off. "Good night."

"Good night," I repeated as he closed the door behind him.

And it is only now, now that I am too excited to sleep, and I am writing down all the events and every little detail that happened, that I'm beginning to realize the meaning behind his nervous, half-coherent chatter. Could he have had "a moment" like I had this morning?

Tomorrow will be the beginning of a new era. The first full day of spring, fresh with the possibility of new beginnings! The cherry blossoms next to my bed are blooming even more than they were last night.

Tomorrow I will ask him about the child's clothes I found and where they came from. I will also ask him that if I'm never to know another person in my whole life, can't I at least know him? After such a promising evening, I think the answer may be yes.


	10. He LOVES Me!

_March 21_

_1pm_

A knock on my door woke me. My eyes fluttered. I was shocked to see that it was 10:30am.

"Belle?" Rumpelstiltskin asked.

I jumped out of bed and answered the door, rubbing my eyes. I knew he was going to be angry. "I'm so sorry I overslept. I'll just get dressed quickly and come down to get breakfast…"

I moved my hands away from my face and saw a tray of pancakes and bacon in front of me. The pancakes were topped with pear slices arranged in the shape of a smiley face.

My eyes rose from the tray to Rumpelstitskin.

He looked bemused at my confusion. "Happy first day of spring," he greeted. "Thought I'd serve you breakfast in bed."

"Oh!" I stepped back in surprise and sputtered. "Oh, um, sure. Thank you." I took the tray from him and looked at the large stack in awe.

"I used to cook them all the time for …" His voice trailed off and his face hardened. "Well, doesn't matter."

I understood that I was not allowed to press him for more information.

He turned to descend the stairs.

"Wait," I called out after him. "Why … why don't you join me? You cooked more than enough."

I walked into the room, placed the tray in the center of the bed and climbed in. I felt awkward being in my nightgown in front of him, so I slid my legs under the covers. This helped.

He hesitated in the doorway.

"Come on in, it's all right," I coaxed, patting the bed. "I promise not to whack you with the candlestick."

He cautiously entered and tried to alleviate feelings of awkwardness by quipping, "You may want to grab that candlestick though after seeing the mess I made in the kitchen."

He sat on top of the covers at the foot of the bed. He watched me for signs of discomfort, and when I showed none, he relaxed and conjured himself a plate and utensils. I placed a helping of pancakes and bacon on his plate and gave it to him. Then I dug into my portion.

"So you can fend for yourself in the kitchen," I teased as I cut the pancake. As I took a bite, buttermilk and maple syrup flavor tantalized my palate. My eyes widened.

He smiled at my reaction. "Of course I can. It's just nicer when someone else does."

"Yes, it definitely is," I concurred with a mouth full of food that Betsy Peadie would have chided me for.

His eyes twinkled. "Don't go getting any ideas. This is just a one time thing," he declared.

I made a face of mock disappointment as I chewed my next bite. "But in a way, making it yourself has its perks too. There's a sense of accomplishment, of self reliance. I wasn't allowed to do much of anything growing up, but by coming here I've been able to realize more of what I'm truly capable of."

He smiled and tapped his fingertips together. I can't tell if he's smiling because of what I said or how I said it – trying to talk with my mouth full. I swallowed and looked down demurely at the tray.

After we ate, he retreated to his lab while I got dressed and met the day with renewed zest and energy. I got more work done in the past few hours than I can ever remember doing before.

Off to work some more! It relieves a lot of nervous energy!

_4pm_

You won't believe this. I am free. Outside and free. I am heading home to my beloved papa! I should be ecstatic. I am happy; don't get me wrong. But I'm also sad for some reason.

Let me try to recount this before it becomes the blur I know it will.

I guess the best place to start is the collection room. I paid special attention to the marionettes this afternoon. They always seemed creepy to me, but that didn't mean they deserved to be ignored. I dusted them, combed their hair, adjusted their clothing — and found myself talking to them.

"You've known him longer than I have," I whispered to them. "So what can you tell me about him? Are those clothes his or did he have a son?"

Of course, neither marionette answered, but it felt good to ask what I wanted to ask. Who knows when the last time those marionettes received any attention? I'm sure it was my imagination, but they looked more comfortable and hopeful.

I heard Rumpeltstiltskin's footsteps and quickly stepped away to the window. The sight of the blooming cherry orchard boosted my courage. I would break his unspoken rules and ask him all I wanted to ask him — right now.

I turned and walked toward him with a smile. He could sense that I wanted to talk to him about something. And … this is silly to admit … but as I walked behind him, I admired his bum one more time — and that made me brash enough to move ahead with my plan.

He leaned against the table and stared into the chipped cup. I still marveled at why he chose that cup every time. I hoped that it reminded him of me, but that was in all likelihood wishful thinking on my part.

And so I asked him about the clothes.

He admitted he had a son that he had lost, as well as the boy's mother. (Now THAT was something I hadn't expected to hear! I felt a twinge of jealousy.) He didn't want to go into detail, but then I asked him outright for permission to get to know him. Relief flooded me when the words finally left my mouth. He took my request well and said that I may, but then accused me of trying to learn his weaknesses. I expected this resistance and told him what I really thought. That he was not a monster, adding my theory that he thinks he is uglier than he is and that's why he covers up the mirrors. A knock on the door interrupted us, to my chagrin, but when he returned he presented me with a rose.

And then it was his turn to ask the questions. Why I had agreed to come. (To save my family and friends and be brave doing it.) And then he asked the question I knew had been on his mind for awhile, just like my question had been about the child's clothes: my feelings for Gaston. I explained to him that I think love is layered — a mystery to be uncovered — and that I could never give my heart to anyone as superficial as Gaston.

I felt liberated admitting that to him, having such an intimate conversation about such an off-limits topic.

And then I was literally liberated.

He told me to go to town and fetch him some straw. And when I returned, he'd tell me the tale of his son.

I was shocked. "You trust me to come back?" I asked in awe.

"No," he stated, the emotion apparent in his eyes. "Frankly I expect to never see you again."

I blinked and replayed the words in his head. He was serious.

I hopped down off the table and in a daze retrieved my cloak from the foyer. I looked at the back of his chair. He was still sitting in it.

I knew I had to make a show of getting straw. I grabbed a basket near the kindling box. As I turned, I noticed he had his head in his hands.

I stopped and stared at him. I don't think he was expecting that. He quickly raised his head out of hands and pretended he was just scratching a spot on his head.

"There is mutton in the ice box for dinner tonight," I suggested. "I have everything marked in the pantry."

He slowly nodded.

This is it. This is the last time we will be seeing each other. Does he have nothing to say to me? Are we still going to pretend that I'm just going out for straw? I readjusted the basket in my hand. I felt I should say something, but I was at a loss for words.

I tried not to focus on this. My mind was already thinking about walking triumphantly into my village – the look on my father's face, the cheers of my people.

"Goodbye," I said distractedly. I walked out of the room.

A faint, weak voice answered me as I walked through the foyer. "Goodbye."

I opened the front door and stepped out onto the path I haven't tread in ten weeks.

I am free.

_6pm_

Oh, I can't begin to tell you how wonderful I feel! The world is a changed place. The birds are chirping, colors are brighter. I am sitting in the cherry orchard and the sky is a bright powder blue that perfectly complements the pink cherry blossoms that surround me. As I write, I'm taking breaks just to get up and dance and twirl as the petals fall around me in celebration. Excuse me, I must try doing a cartwheel!

Ok, that was a disaster. But the bottom line is that I'm not this ecstatic because I'm free. It's because I'm going back!

Yes!

While walking along, a well-to-do woman stopped her carriage and entourage and walked with me. She tried to engage me in conversation about running away from a master and/or lover, hitting a little too close to home. I feigned feeling tired and told her to move on without me. But she pressed and I admitted to her what I had been thinking inside for some time: that I could love him, but something evil had taken root in him. It felt like a tremendous weight had been lifted off of me just by finally saying it aloud. I had been feeling so confused and conflicted, especially the past few days.

Then she said something I hadn't considered.

"Sounds like he's cursed to me. And all curses can be broken. A kiss of true love will do it."

I stopped and looked at her like she was out of her mind for even thinking such a thing — even though I myself had thought of kissing him endlessly. Was she a mind reader? She quickly clarified that she'd never suggest a captive kiss her captor.

Then she added quite a game-changing statement.

"Besides, if he loves you, he would have let you go, and if he didn't, well, the kiss wouldn't even work."

And my mind put two and two together. I stopped in my tracks.

"But he did let me go!"

She stopped. "Yes, but no kiss happened."

A small smile grew on my lips as I came to the inevitable conclusion.

He let me go because he loves me.

Oh, just writing that caused my heart to flip flop and I had to take a break from writing to twirl again. He LOVES me! Oh, that feels so good to write! He LOVES me! He LOVES me! He LOVES me!

And now I can't see how I could have missed it. The thoughtful gifts. The cherry blossom sprigs. The mud that got cleaned off the floor. The nighttime sky show. The breakfast in bed. He LOVES me.

And it's so different from Gaston. Gaston loved me, but I don't believe he really LOVED me. Not to capital-letter standards. Oh, he said he did loads of time with his words, but Rumpelstiltskin said it with his eyes, his looks, his actions, his heart.

So knowing that, I have to go back and see if it is true love. Because if it is, the curse will be broken. He will be an ordinary man. One who I can love fully. Oh, and I know now how much I would!

I have completely muddled the full explanation because I am unable to stop thinking about the fact that he LOVES me. It's only been a few minutes, but it's all such a blur.

I'm going to town to get the straw. Let those villagers speak as they will. And then I will come back.

I will always come back to him.

_6pm_

I walked into the village triumphantly, ready to pick up straw. No one knew who I was, and that was fine by me.

"Belle!" a gruff female voice bellowed.

I turned around and was pulled into a storefront. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the low light. I recognized my captor as Sally the dressmaker.

"Did you escape? You shouldn't be roaming around here if you did!" she asked wide eyed. Before I could get a word in edgewise, she yelled out, "Vera! Vera! Come look who I found!"

Vera appeared at the front of the shop and gasped. She looked frightened. "What are you doing out? And Sally, why did you bring her in here? If he catches us…"

"He let me go," I interrupted.

They both responded with wide-eyed silence. I sighed. Finally I could get a word in edgewise.

"I am here to run an errand for him," I explained. "He needs more straw."

They exchanged glances with each other, before returning their gaze to me.

"And you're going back?" Vera asked.

"Mmmhmm," I answered, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Sally put her hand on my forehead. "Honey, are you feeling all right?"

"Let me get the candle," Vera suggested. "You look a little feverish to me."

I tried to quell my laughter. "I am fine!"

But Vera moved the lit candle closer to me. Both women gasped at the sight.

"She's glowing!" Vera exclaimed.

I could feel myself blush. "It's from the exercise. I haven't been out like this in awhile."

Out of the corner of her mouth, Sally spoke. "That's pregnancy glow."

It was my turn to gasp. "No, it is not!"

"Mmhmm," Vera agreed as if I was not there. "We're going to have to make a new dress now."

Sally held out her hand to Vera. "You owe me five gold pieces."

"I am not pregnant!" I said huffily, stamping my feet for emphasis.

Sally conceded the point. "Fine." She pointed a finger at my face. "But that glow is from more than just exercise."

"And it's not from sickness," Vera astutely noted.

I bristled and tried to change the subject. "Whatever that glow is from is none of your concern. I am here to get straw."

Sally called from behind her. "MURRAY!"

"WHAT?"

"GO GET BELLE SOME STRAW!"

"WHAT?"

"GO GET BELLE … Oh, NEVER MIND!"

"Thank you," I interrupted, "but I'll go around to get it myself."

I opened the shop door and paused, my happiness radiating and yearning to be shared. I rebelliously turned back to them.

"Oh, and ladies?" I asked.

They were scrutinizing me carefully, still trying to decode what was different about me.

"Don't rule anything out for the future," I said mysteriously.

I heard them hooting as I closed the door behind me.

Sorry, I should be rushing back to the castle, but I just had to write that exchange down.

_7pm_

The moon is high and about three-quarters full. I am almost past the last trees to the clearing leading me straight to the castle.

And there is he. I can see him staring out his lab window. He is looking for me! He is missing me!

No more time to write. I am ready to make my triumphant return with straw in tow. And I will see if it is indeed true love. If it is, then all my dreams will come true. If it's not, well, perhaps now I will have more freedom to come and go as I please.

I've walked past the clearing now and he has seen me. He has just raced away from the window. I expect him to be doing something nonchalantly, as if he wasn't watching, waiting and hoping for my return.

His reaction bodes well. I'm reaching the castle doors now. I hope the next time I write I will have wonderful news to tell!

**A/N: And you all know where my story is going from here…**

**I just saw "The Return" last night and it left me feeling a little raw – that was a lot to digest. But it's stirred a slew of ideas in my head that are forming a story about what happened to Bae. Anyone interested in reading it if I pursue it?**


	11. Soaring High, Dropping Low

_March 22_

_Sunrise_

I am confused. Aghast. Numb.

I'm in the dungeon now. I've never soared so high or dropped so low. And all in less than a minute.

It is true love. I saw it with my own two eyes. It's like coming this close to your dreams, and watching them brush past you, like a stranger in a crowd.

I walked into the collection room with a skip in my step. As I predicted, he was spinning nonchalantly in his collection room, a fire roaring in the fireplace.

"Oh, back already?" he feigned surprised. "Good thing. I'm nearly out of straw."

"Hmm," I responded skeptically. I placed the straw near the spindle and called his bluff. "Come on. You're happy that I'm back."

He sheepishly replied, "I'm not unhappy." Classic Rumpelstiltskin double negative.

I was so confident. And so handsy! I walked behind him, put my hands on his shoulders and said, "And you promised me a story."

"Did I?" he asked.

"Mmmhmm." I took the straw away, sat down next to him, placed my hand on his leg, and looked up at him. "Tell me about your son."

He did not recoil from my touch, but he didn't respond to it as welcoming as I would have liked. If he reacted at all, it seemed to be a loss for words. "Oh, I … I lost him, there's … nothing more to tell, really."

He was a horrible storyteller. But my thoughts dwelled in a different direction anyway.

"And since then you've loved no one, and no one has loved you."

He moved in, looking into my eyes suspiciously, trying to determine my motives.

"Why did you come back?" he asked.

I could feel magic trying to work its way through me, to get me to answer truthfully. I had nothing to hide.

"I wasn't going to, but then …" my voice broke with emotion … "something changed my mind."

I have never felt so afraid in all my life. Even my first night in Rumpelstiltskin's dungeon didn't compare to this. I leaned in slowly, hoping he would get the idea. Of course, he remained perfectly still, which only intensified my fear. But I was in it and not about to turn back. If I reached his lips and he didn't kiss back, how horrible and embarrassing that would be! I closed my eyes and wished for the best.

Our lips met and to my delight he puckered at the last second. We experienced a beautiful chaste kiss that I can still feel on my lips. It was short-lived, but powerfully potent, the kind where you feel star beams shooting out your fingers and toes. I opened my eyes to see if it was working. After a kiss like that, I knew it had to.

And to my delight it was.

It was true love!

I could see the curse dissipating. I could see the ordinary man he was turning into. He was so handsome! His yellow eyes turned to a deep dark brown.

"What … what's happening?" he asked.

I put my hands on his head and ran them down his hair. Was this really happening? Skin! I could feel real skin on his face and his neck!

He opened his eyes in surprise at the change in sensation.

"Kiss me again! It's working!" I cried.

"What's working?" he asked.

And then I ruined it. I will go to my grave regretting what I said next.

"Any curse can be broken."

He looked momentarily aghast at my words and then leaped up and away from me. The ordinary man I loved disappeared, replaced by the evil one I was hoping to vanquish.

"Who told you that?" he asked in terror. "Who knows that?"

I stammered in confusion. Rumpelstiltskin picked up on my "she" references. He bolted for the mirror and pulled off the covering.

"You evil soul!" he began. "This was you! You turned her against me! You think that you can make me weak? You think that you can defeat me?"

At the time, I really believed the curse was chiding the man within. But he revealed he was talking to the queen. In my heart, I think the curse was addressing them both.

I tried to talk sense into him, but he came back at me.

"I knew this was a trick. I knew you could never care for me. Oh yeah, you're working for her. Or is this all you? Is this you being the hero – and killing the beast?"

And yes, I can see how, after earlier today telling him about wanting to do the brave thing, be a hero, he could come to that conclusion. But I had to get him to focus on the fact that this was true love. He told me to shut up, as true love was an indisputable fact that he did not care to dwell on.

"Why won't you believe me?" I wailed.

"Because no one can ever, ever love me!"

And there's the gist of it: the fears of an ordinary man. And now I am here in the dungeon, wondering what my fate will be.

I am not that worried. I can win him over in the end. I can prove to him that it is true love. I can refrain from touching him or talking to him, and yet convey it in my looks and through other actions. He just has to calm down and things can go back to normal. It will take some time, but I just have to consider it like my first night here. We'll get a second chance if I just back off a bit. After all, it's true love. Nothing can stop true love. It always prevails.

_10am_

I can't believe it. He released me. I am out of the dark castle, and in the spot where 15 hours before I was spying him looking for me from his laboratory window.

He's not looking out the window now.

He came back to the dungeon just as I knew he would. And he shocked me by pointing at the door and viciously saying one word.

"Go."

He turned his back to me and I repeated the word in confusion.

"I don't want you anymore, dearie," he clarified. I didn't believe him, but I cannot express how deeply it hurt to hear him say it.

I rose, smoothed my skirt in frustration and walked out of the dungeon. Then I stopped in my tracks.

Oh no, he was not getting rid of me that easily. He was going to have to face me.

I walked back in. "You were freeing yourself. You could have had happiness if you'd just believed that someone could want you. But you couldn't take the chance."

"That's a lie," he told me.

But his words only strengthened my resolve.

"You're a coward, Rumpelstiltskin," I declared. "And no matter how thick you make your skin, that doesn't change."

"I'm not a coward, dearie," he stated matter-of-factly. "It's quite simple, really. My power means more to me than you."

The coldness in his voice chilled me, but my mind replayed true love's kiss, which completely contradicted his statement. He couldn't fool me.

I stepped forward undeterred. "No, it doesn't. You just don't think I can love you. Now you have made your choice." I tried to remain strong, but my voice started cracking and I could feel the tears forming in my eyes. "And you're going to regret it … forever. All you'll have is an empty heart … and a chipped cup."

I marched out, thinking the worst was over. But I wasn't prepared for what I saw as I left.

The kitchen floor was covered with bashed and dented pots and pans. The glass doors in the collection room were smashed. Teacup shards littered the floor.

The dark castle looked like a war zone. A war I had lost.

I had already been crying, but upon seeing the extent of the destruction, I started to sob. I grabbed my cloak and ran. I was too afraid to enter my room or even the library. If he had destroyed his rooms, what would he have done to mine? He could keep all his gifts to me. Let him be reminded of my presence and what he gave up at all costs. I did not want a single part of it if I could not have him.

So now I sit in the same spot I was in yesterday, where I could view the castle without being seen. And I wait. I'm hoping that he'll realize his mistake. That he'll run out the front door looking for me, weeping and begging for my return. Tell me that I was right and he was wrong.

True love is supposed to win. Why has it forsaken me?

_7pm_

I waited for the rest of the day. He did not emerge from the castle. As the sun started setting, I was forced to move and find shelter for the evening. I wandered into the village in a daze and knocked on the dress shop door.

Sally answered it. "Belle, what a nice surprise! Out again so soon? You must really be enjoying the new-found free..." She stopped as she noticed my puffy eyes and quivering lips.

I threw myself into her arms and sobbed. She didn't say anything; she just stroked my hair and let me cry.

Finally I was able to tell her what happened.

"Murray!" she called out. "Prepare the spare bed."

I am in bed right now. I'm so exhausted: physically, emotionally, mentally. Sally said I could stay with her as long as I wanted, but I know harboring Rumpelstiltskin's former prisoner would be detrimental to her business.

It's time for me to go home to my father. I can return to my old ways and hopefully feel the happiness I once did, before any of this happened.

* * *

_March 24_

_2pm_

Just when I thought I couldn't feel any worse, I do.

I thought that if I arrived home, I'd be treated like a hero. I sacrificed myself for the good of the village. I saved them from the ogres. One would think that it would induce fanfare and gratitude.

It didn't.

News of the village's sanctuary status from the ogre wars brought in a slew of refugees that the village's infrastructure was not equipped to handle. Tensions between the old and new inhabitants intensified exponentially. Crime, poverty and pestilence became prevalent. Support for the monarchy was turning toward a burgeoning theocracy.

This was not the village I grew up in. This was not the village I left.

All villagers, whether old or new, shared one thing in common: As soon as they saw me, they feared me. They asked me why I was there and I told them that Rumpelstiltskin had let me go. They didn't believe me; they thought it was a trick.

When Papa arrived, I rushed into his arms, but he held me back at arm's length. I looked in his eyes and I could tell that he missed me, but he couldn't trust me.

"Papa?" I asked crestfallen. "Not you too."

A cleric pricked me with a saber, which caused me to jump. "He has infected her soul!" he declared.

My father shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry, Belle. But we can't take chances."

"Papa," I pleaded, "he let me go!"

"It doesn't make sense for him to let you go, Belle," my father countered.

"Yes, it does!" I racked my brain for an explanation that he'd believe. "I … drove him crazy! You … you've always said that with my queer ways I would never be able to keep a husband because I'd drive him crazy."

"A husband!" the cleric hissed. "She admits to having carnal relations with the beast!"

The crowd gasped.

"No!" I cried aghast. "It wasn't like that!"

I looked around, hoping to see Gaston stand and defend me, or even see a familiar face like Betsy Peadie leading the charge against me. But I saw neither of them. I turned to my father in tears as the crowd demanded my execution.

My father looked torn, more torn than any man should when given the choice between power and the woman he loves. Was I to lose such a war yet again?

"No!" he finally decried. "No, I cannot let you kill my little girl!"

"Then we will have to purify her!" the cleric exclaimed. "Scourges and flame will do the trick."

The crowd cheered. Purification was just as good of a show as an execution. Either way, the villagers could release their anger at their situation and momentarily forget about their problems.

I turned one last time to my father as the tears streamed down my face.

He looked at me with resolved agony. "I'm sorry, Belle. It is the only way."

The clerics dragged me kicking and screaming to the tower. My 'purification' was to begin the next morning.

I know this will be the end of me.

_10pm_

I'm lying in a heap on the hard stone floor of the tower, my feet propped up against the wall. The stone floor is not warm like Rumpelstiltskin's was.

The two men I love most in this world have betrayed me in less than 48 hours. An execution would have been easier to endure.

Hold on, my feet are stuck.

Oh diary! That's it!

* * *

_March 25_

_8:30pm_

I am watching the sunset. I ran all night last night and much of the day today, trying to put as much distance between me and my father's kingdom — between me and Rumpelstiltskin — as I could.

I scaled the tower. Crawled right out the window and walked right down the walls. Hopped over people's roofs and down the city's walls.

I had forgotten about the powers of the shoes. They saved me when I needed it most.

This evening I sat in a tavern with a group of dwarves nearby. One of them was in love. It's amazing how easy it is to tell now. Like a secret language revealed. I gave him some advice about reading women. After hearing what she said to him about going to see the fireflies, I told him that she was inviting him to be with her. I tried not to think of two days before when I waited for Rumpelstiltskin to come after me. He was ecstatic to discover her intent and headed right out to meet her. I'm glad I could help in that small way. No woman should ever have to wait for a man to get a clue. It's agonizing.

Tomorrow I am leaving for a trip around the world. I have always wanted to go and there is nothing stopping me now. So I am off for adventures in far-away lands to help me forget my pain. Perhaps a visit tomorrow night to Firefly Hill will be in order. It will be a good test of my resolve, to be in such a romantic, beautiful place, and NOT think of him. I will see the world and all its beauty, and in so doing, I will completely forget about my previous life. Starting … NOW.

_8:35pm_

DAMMIT!


	12. World Traveler

**A/N: Last night was #CarlyleTuesday and I received a reply to a tweet (unrelated to this story) from Robert Carlyle. That would be enough for me to attempt a disastrous cartwheel like Belle did in a previous chapter. But it wasn't just any reply. **

**It was a reply with a smiley face in it. **

**This is Robert F^%*ing Carlyle – he does not do smiley faces. I went searching through his tweets and did not find any others that contained a smiley face.**

**I know it's just a monumental coincidence (even though I have the same handle here as I do on Twitter), but only you, dear reader, would get why that meant so much to me. And here's a smiley face for you. :)**

* * *

_June 21_

_5pm_

I have spent spring in the northern kingdoms waitressing in taverns to earn wages. One of the inns featured an elderly innkeeper couple who couldn't believe that a female planned to see the world alone. They thought it was just my excuse so people wouldn't feel sorry for me not being married. They liked my work ethic and I knew what they had in mind when they introduced me to their son. He might as well have been called Gaston II.

Before Gaston II could get too enamored, I met a couple with an uncontrollable little girl named Goldilocks. When they heard I wanted to see the world, they mentioned that they were on their way to the coast to book passage to Africa. They offered me a free trip if I was their nanny. That girl is spoiled rotten, but I couldn't say no. She seems to listen to me more than anyone, so I hope that continues in my favor.

"Why aren't you married?" she asked me on one of our first meetings.

"Because I don't want to be," I lied.

She frowned. "You must be picky. Mommy says the picky ones die old maids."

My eyes twinkled. "You make that sound like it's a bad thing."

She looked at me wide-eyed. "You mean it isn't?"

"Not having anyone to cater to. Doing what you want to do when you want to do it without having to discuss it with anyone."

Goldilocks blinked. "That sounds like heaven."

"Then there you go," I smiled.

She folded her arms in front of her. "Good. Then I'm going to grow up and be an old maid like you, Belle."

I laughed. "Don't tell your mother."

So now I am enjoying my final evening before the ship disembarks. I am sitting on a beach with my toes in the water filling you in, diary, on the past couple of months. The tide keeps trying to pull me out. It will get me tomorrow and I will be off to Africa.

Further away from him.

I've spent the majority of my time not thinking about him. I didn't think of him at the inn when I scrubbed the floors or served the food. I didn't think of him whenever people asked how a pretty girl like me could not have a beau. And I didn't think of him when Gaston II tried to kiss me and was rewarded with my left hook.

Not thinking about him is exhausting.

Hmm … there is a man at the other end of the beach with a telescope who is building a sandcastle. I'm going to investigate.

_7pm_

I walked down the beach toward him carrying my shoes. His focus was solely on the elaborate sandcastle he was creating, but my interest lay in his telescope.

"May I look?" I asked, pointing to it.

"Oh sure," he said over his shoulder.

I watched a whale's tale flip out of and back into the ocean. I smiled broadly.

"See anything you like?"

I pulled away from the telescope and was surprised to find him standing right behind me. I jumped.

He grinned and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Didn't mean to scare you." He had a dazzling smile. His entire body radiated happiness. It was infectious and for the first time in three months, I felt myself relaxing.

Yes, I saw something I liked.

"I just saw a whale," I explained.

He nodded. "Whale watching was the original reason I came here." He got a far away look in his eye. "But then it became to look for her."

"Her?" I asked.

"I almost drowned a few months ago," he explained, "and this girl saved me. The only thing I remembered was her hypnotic voice. Thankfully things worked out and I found her." He scratched the back of his head. "This sounds crazy, but whenever I'm in town now, I'm not looking at girls the way I used to; instead I just look for her and her red hair."

I smirked thinking what would happen if the poor girl went gray prematurely. How bitter am I becoming?

I didn't think about Rumpelstiltskin wrapping his fingers through my curls. Not at all.

"I'm sounding superficial," he apologized. "It's not like that. I kissed her and knew it was true love. I mean, it's just incredible and intense and … everything. Have you ever felt that before?"

"Yes, I have," I said sadly.

He was too busy pulling out the ring box in his pocket to notice my tone. Typical male. He opened it and showed me the pearl ring inside. "I'm proposing to her at sunset. That's what the sandcastle backdrop is for."

I gasped. "Wow! Congratulations!" I admired the ring. I did not think about what kind of ring I might have received, or how such a proposal would ever be made to me. Not one bit.

The ring looked quite pricey. "Are you a prince or something?" I quipped.

He bowed. "Yes. Prince Eric."

I bit my lip. I meant it as a joke. "Oh, please forgive me, your majesty." I curtseyed. "I'm Belle."

"There's no need to apologize, Belle. What brings you to these parts? I don't think I've seen you around before."

"World travel," I answered. "My ship leaves tomorrow for Cape Town, and from there we are on safari to Victoria Falls. Then we head east and travel by ship to Madagascar — I've always wanted to see the lemurs that are indigenous there — and then it's on to the Horn of Africa, Egypt and Arabia."

"Good for you! I've never…" He stopped and his entire face lit up. "Sorry, I just saw a flash of red hair. She's coming over the sand dunes."

And that was my cue to exit.

I nodded politely to him and started backing away. "Nice meeting you."

He waved. "Good luck to you, Belle the World Traveler."

"Good luck to you, Prince Eric the Whale and Red Hair Watcher."

I walked away just as the sun was starting to set. By the time I reached the other side of the beach, I heard a squeal. I turned and saw him down on one knee, giving his future bride her ring. He was right; she did have beautiful red hair. She nodded vehemently, her hands covering her face. He picked her up and twirled her around in a passionate embrace. They walked down the beach in the opposite direction from me, arm in arm.

Two sets of footsteps on their side.

One on mine.

* * *

_August 28_

_1pm_

We sailed to Cape Town and made our way north on safari. I learned how to do an African rain dance from a local tribe who hosted us one evening. I rode an elephant and fed a giraffe. I saw a lion and lioness licking their cub while a mandrill observed nearby. It was a very sweet scene and for the first time I longed to be the head of a family of my own. Me, who never wanted to be a parent before.

I just hadn't meant the right person to share that responsibility with.

Today I am sitting in front of Victoria Falls. It is infinitely more vast, beautiful and powerful than I thought it was. This seems to be a romantic haven for lovers. Not thinking about him is difficult when I'm surrounded by people who are liplocked.

Goldilocks scrunched her face in disgust at the display. "How long can all those people keep kissing? Don't they have to come up for air eventually?"

I laughed. "They are on their honeymoon. This would be the exact trip I'd take if I had just gotten married."

"But you're not married."

I shrugged. "If you don't have the man, then console yourself with the trip, right?"

Goldilocks looked momentarily dazed at the sight of one couple. She sighed. "Do you think a boy would ever want to kiss me like that, Belle?"

I remember thinking the same thing at her age. "Yes, Goldy, and I'm sure one will someday."

* * *

_October 12_

_5pm_

The wildlife of Madagascar is incredible. I've been teaching Goldilocks about categorizing some of the species we observed and she is keeping her own journal now about her experiences.

"I've never seen a writing instrument like that before, Belle," Goldilocks commented earlier today. "Where did you get it?"

I twirled it between my forefinger and thumb. "It was a gift from a friend."

"You never need ink!"

"That's right."

Her eyes widened. "So it's magic."

I shrugged, hoping to get her off the topic. "I guess."

I didn't succeed.

"You just turned sad," she commented.

I put the pen in my pocket. "Did I?" I took a deep breath. "Well, I'll have to fix that. I can't be sad in such a beautiful place."

"Was your friend a boy or a girl?"

"Goldy, let's take a look in your journal and try to…"

She gasped, reading through my rouse. "He was your beau! And he was wizard!"

I winced and looked away. She rose and plopped down within my sight again.

"Did you love him?"

I looked at my hands and reluctantly nodded.

"But he didn't love you?"

"He did," I explained, "but it wasn't enough."

"It wasn't true love?"

I put my head in my hands. "It was … but it's complicated."

"If it's true love, how can it not last? I thought that was the most powerful…"

"Goldy, enough!" I yelled.

She cowered. She could see by the look on my face that she had crossed a line. She ran to her hut.

I walked along the outskirts of the camp to compose myself as well. The flood of hurt feelings returned just by briefly acknowledging it.

How I am ever going to get over this?

* * *

_November 28_

_10pm_

We took a boat up the Nile to see the sights of Egypt and I climbed the Great Sphinx of Giza with Goldilocks on my back (when her parents weren't looking, of course). I pretended to be an excellent climber and that it had nothing to do with my shoes. We sat on the Sphinx's head and looked out upon all the pyramids.

"Don't you wish you could go exploring inside all of these tombs, Belle?"

I considered her question. "In some ways yes, and in some ways no. These are people's graves after all. Being up here like this is good enough for me."

Goldilocks had been distance for about a week, but my anger at her questioning me benefited both of us: It taught her to think before she spoke. She said nothing more after that.

Today we entered Arabia and our first stop of Agrabah, where we dined with Sultan Aladdin and Panguian Jasmine. The entertainment after dinner was a belly dancing demonstration followed by a lesson. I got to dress in a belly dancing costume, which was exhilarating, but boy, is my abdomen sore!

Another guest of the Sultan's, a Japanese gentlemen in his 40s decked in black garb, watched me keenly. He intrigued me. When I saw Jasmine, I asked her about him.

"Oh, that's Minamoto. He's a samurai turned ninja or ninja turned samurai — something like that. I'm not quite sure. Why don't you ask him?"

And I was thrown into his path.

He bowed to me. I nervously bowed back to him.

"Beautiful dancing," he commented.

"Thank you," I answered awkwardly.

"But your skills lie well beyond the dancing arena."

I looked at him aghast at such an ungentlemanly comment.

His eyes burned with intensity. "You have the talent of a kunoichi. I can see it in you."

I bristled. "I have no idea what that means, but I can assure you I'm not interested."

And I walked away from him.

I thankfully realized it was time to put Goldilocks to bed and excused myself to do so, with much complaining from Goldilocks who wanted to stay up well past her bedtime. I am a little unnerved from that encounter.

_10:30pm_

Oh my, a note just slid under my door!

_Forgive me for being so forward and scaring you away. My phrasing was not optimal, as I have just learned from your laughing employers. Please allow me a second chance to explain at breakfast._

_Minamoto_

I have no idea what any of this means. But as long as there are several people in the room with us, I can at least hear him out.


	13. Kunoichi Blue

_December 3_

_3pm_

Please forgive the shoddy penmanship. I am trying to write while riding a camel. This is not like riding a horse. The camel lifts both legs on its side at the same time. I have my left leg bent at a 90-degree angle and my right leg around the camel's neck, which is the way the locals do it.

A lot has happened in the span of five days. I met with Minamoto the next morning. He explained to me that he is a former samurai turned ninja. I asked him what the difference was.

"The former follows rules," he explained. "The latter does not."

I squinted in curiosity. "What made you change from one to the other?"

He shrugged. "I got sick of the rules."

He is not a loquacious man. That's a trait he shares with … well, it doesn't matter.

He invited me back to Japan with him to receive training to become a kunoichi: a female ninja. My mouth gaped at his offer, which made Minamoto smile. When my brain finally functioned again ten seconds later, I turned to Goldilocks. She was looking at her hands and frowning.

"You're going to go, aren't you?" her voice broke.

I winced.

Goldilocks sighed. "I know you need to do this, Belle. You need to find happiness."

I smoothed my hand over Goldilock's hair gratefully. "A statement like that shows that you don't need me anymore."

Her eyes met mine and she smiled sadly. "Oh, I'll always need you, Belle. But now you have to focus on what YOU need."

It's amazing how much a child can grow in just six months.

After lunch, I pulled Minamoto aside in the palace hallway to speak to him privately. He grinned down on me and folded his arms as I looked around to make sure we were alone.

"There's something you should know about me that may change your mind," I confessed. "You think I have these skills, but really …" I paused. "… it's the shoes."

He raised an eyebrow. "The shoes?"

I demonstrated their use. I ran up an enormous palace wall halfway and then backflipped down.

If Minamoto's jaw could have hit the floor, it would have.

I cringed in embarrassment. "Isn't that cheating?"

He shook his head, still in awe. "No, it's not cheating. I told you there are no rules."

"But it's not talent; it's magic."

"It takes talent to use magic. And I haven't seen another woman do that since …" His voice trailed off and he got a far away look in his eye. He shook his head to return to the present.

Later in the day he showed me some basic self-defense moves and we had our first lesson. Of course I couldn't get anything past him. But the next day when he presented me with my black ninja uniform, I performed more admirably. As I slipped my legs into the pants, I did not think about slipping into Rumpelstiltskin's leather pants. Not at all.

During warm-ups, Minamoto became distracted as I flipped and kicked him in the nose. Blood spattered across his shirt.

I cupped my hands around my face in horror. "Oh, I'm sorry!" I cried.

"No! No!" he exclaimed, tilting his head back to stop the bleeding. "That was my fault. When you flipped you looked just like … well, it was my fault."

Last night I said a teary goodbye to Goldilocks and her family, and today Minamoto and I are heading to the Arabian coast to catch a boat to India because he has business with the shah at the Taj Mahal. Then we will continue east to catch another boat to Japan, where I will receive my formal training.

I must stop writing now because I am getting dizzy trying to write so much while moving! More later…

* * *

_December 15_

_3am_

I'm glad I didn't travel through the Arabian desert alone. You wouldn't believe the number of times scary-looking men asked Minamoto if he was willing to sell me. Blue eyes are prized in Arabia.

Minamoto quipped the same way every time. "You do not want her. Her kicks are stronger than a stubborn mules' — and I have the nose to prove it. I would be stealing your money." When they continued to press, he said menacingly, "Her fate is her own. And it sure as hell isn't yours."

His last statement gave me goosebumps. However, when we reached the Arabian coast and I awkwardly slipped off the camel's back, I whacked him for comparing me to a stubborn mule.

Yesterday we reached the Taj Mahal and the shah himself gave us a tour. I was in awe. Minamoto must be someone important to receive such treatment.

Then he shouted at me to climb out of reach as he proceeded to beat the shah and his imperial guard.

I kicked a few guards who tried to follow me up the walls. They fell flat on their backs.

"That was fantastic, Mihoshi!" he yelled after me as he successfully swatted two guards at once.

Mihoshi? Was that a term of endearment?

After he knocked the last guard down, he grabbed my arm and we raced away.

"What was that all about?" I asked as we scaled a building.

"Just conveying a message from the emperor," he grinned.

"I didn't think you reported to anyone." I loved the political intrigue.

"I don't. It's an unofficial message that can be disavowed as needed. But the point was made."

Until my dying day, I will always remember racing over buildings and across the beautiful gardens of the Taj Mahal in bitterly cold temperatures escaping the Indian guard. It was the closest thing I'd come to happiness in almost a year.

We broke into an unoccupied mansion with a view of the Taj Mahal and created a fire, huddling around it for warmth. And until just a few minutes ago, we talked. Or rather, I did the talking and he did the listening. He wanted to know more about me, and the late hour mixed with the earlier adrenaline rush caused me to convey my saga. My sacrifice to save my village from the ogre wars. Falling in love with Rumpelstiltskin. True love's kiss. His rejection of me. My father and village's betrayal. I cried and at few points sobbed, but I generally held it together. He listened intently to every word and looked at me tenderly, without judgment. I'd been afraid of acknowledging that part of my life, but I found the experience of retelling and reliving it surprisingly cathartic.

When I finished telling me story, I stared into the fire sadly. I wiped my swollen eyes.

He was silent for a time, staring into the fire intently as well. Finally he cleared his throat as if to speak and then hesitated. He licked his lips and tried again. "Belle, if it's any consolation, I can guarantee you that your pain is about one-tenth his."

I know Minamoto respected me before, but he seemed so deeply moved by my tale that I think I garnered even more respect this evening.

* * *

_January 8_

_6pm_

I arrived in Japan on New Year's Day. It's another new year. And another new life.

Minamoto is treated like a god at this school. He shrugs it off, which just makes the worship more worth the earning. Minamoto and the other ninjas pay a great deal of attention to me, which is not making my life very easy with the other kunoichi.

There are Betsy Peadies in every crowd.

"Have you thought of a kunoichi name?" Minamoto asked me today in front of the class.

I shook my head.

"I think you should chose Ao," he suggested. "It means blue." He scanned me from head to toe. "Blue eyes. Blue shoes. Blue soul."

I got goosebumps again. But I heard a few groans behind me. One ninja as I walked by mumbled under his breath, "Blue balls."

So I made sure his balls would indeed be blue for all eternity.

I really must ask Minamoto to refrain from singling me out. I'm different enough as it is.

* * *

_February 14_

_6pm_

At my request, Minamoto has stopped making me an example and has been treating me more like the other students. But the bullying continues. One kunoichi even tried to steal my shoes, so I've started sleeping with them tied around my waist under my uniform. Yes, it is as uncomfortable as it sounds.

Tonight after dinner, I heard two of the school's female servants talking about their "fond Mihoshi memories." I remembered how Minamoto called me that and asked them what the term meant.

The two women exchanged looks. The first explained, "Mihoshi means beautiful star, but it's not a term. We were talking about our friend, the woman Minamoto loved."

I took a step back in shock.

"She was betrothed to another samurai of higher rank who was a nasty piece of work," the second continued. "She spent a lot of time with Minamoto and one day when she thought he felt the same, she confessed her feelings for him. Although he did love her, he denied it because he knew being with her would affect his career. Disgraced and rejected, she committed jigai to restore honor to her family."

"Jigai?" I asked.

"I believe you call it suicide."

I gasped.

I was betrothed. I chose life with another man. So in a different culture, I could have experienced the same fate. "That … is so tragic."

"He stopped being a samurai after that," the first explained. "Hated everything to do with honor. Came here and founded this school instead."

The second looked around anxiously. "But please don't tell anyone we told you that. That's not supposed to be common knowledge."

"But we figure, since the sensei is so fond of you …" the first began and shrugged.

"Which makes sense because you are like Mihoshi in many ways..." the second concluded, her voice trailing off.

But I don't want to remind the people around me of someone else. I just want to be me.

* * *

_March 21_

_2:30pm_

The past two months have been exhilarating. I'm learning how to use a katana! If my father and his knights could see me now!

I walked into the classroom this morning as the other students were gathered in a huddle whispering. I started practicing warm-ups away from them.

"Hey Ao," a ninja called out. "Come play a game with us."

I cautiously approached them.

"Close your eyes and picture a body of water," he instructed. "What do you see?"

I imagined myself standing on the beach the evening before I left for Africa. "The ocean," I answered.

The other ninjas and kunoichi snickered.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing, nothing."

I frowned. It was obviously something.

Minamoto walked into the room before I could press for an explanation. "Belle, may I see you outside, please?"

He hadn't called me by my real first name in months. I followed him out of the classroom.

"Yes, sensei?" I tried to sound as professional as possible.

"Today is the first day of spring." he began.

I blinked. He was right. A year ago today, I …

"And I want to show you something," he interrupted my thoughts. "Something that has helped me on my path that I think will help you as well."

He led me to the stables to select horses. After riding for an hour, we arrived in a field.

A field with a lone blooming cherry tree in the distance.

I stared at it in awe and did not think about the cherry orchard I was in the year before, when I had been the happiest of my whole life. Did not think of that at all.

We slid off our horses. Minamoto gazed intently at me.

"You have been here at this school for more than two months, but you are still deeply troubled."

I cringed. "I'm sorry, sensei, I'm trying …"

"Sit under the tree and meditate," he instructed. "The tree will help you find your way. I will wait for you here."

I reluctantly walked toward the tree. How was a tree supposed to help me find my way?

But I sat beneath it and closed my eyes.


	14. Under the Cherry Tree

******A/N: I've been flying through writing this, but I have to take a break this weekend. Next update won't be until Monday night. Hopefully this will tide you over until then! Enjoy!  
**

Dressed in my black kunoichi jumpsuit, I walked up to the door of the dark castle and knocked.

Rumpelstiltskin answered. He grinned and flexed his fingers, assessing me from head to toe. "A kunoichi!" he exclaimed. "And what deal do you …"

He stopped in midsentence when he noticed my eyes. He stepped forward to examine me closer.

I pulled my mask off and ran my fingers through my hair.

His eyes widened in terror. He stumbled backward, bumping into the rose pedestal behind him. He held onto it for dear life.

"Hello," I greeted, bemused at his reaction.

He gathered his wits and stood on wobbly legs. "But I thought… But I was told you…"

He scrutinized me dubiously. Then he stood more steadily and stepped toward me. I felt magic travel through my body. I knew what he was trying to do.

"It's not a trick. It is me," I said. "The only magic you'll find is my shoes, which you already know are magic anyway."

I bent one knee and then the other, slipping the shoes off with my hands. I shoved them into his torso. He held them, examining them closely in awe as if they were cherished artifacts. I stood back and spread my arms.

"Go ahead, detect magic again," I suggested. "You won't find any."

Realization dawned on his face. He dropped the shoes and reached for me.

"Belle," he murmured, moving forward.

I stepped back out of his grasp, my anger burning. How dare he try to touch me.

"I am here to make a deal with you," I clarified.

He weighed my words and blinked. "A deal?" he asked incredulously. "What is it that you want?"

You, you dummy. But I don't say that.

"I want your potion that makes people fall out of love."

He looked at the floor and turned his back to me. I bristled at his silent treatment. I drew my katana and started pacing behind him.

"It seems I've encountered true love," I explained with venom, "and yet I cannot claim it. So I want to forget it."

Rumpelstiltskin slowly pivoted back to me and shook his head. "Belle, you don't want that."

I pointed the katana at him, but I kept my voice steady. "You have no right to tell me what I do or do not want."

His face hardened and he stepped into the katana. "Fine. Then let's talk price." He flicked the blade away from him.

"Price?" I asked, squinting in disgust. "You already have my heart and I have nothing of yours, so you are in no position to negotiate."

He threw the shoes back at me. I dropped the katana to catch them. It clattered against the stone floor.

He merely smiled. "Doesn't work that way, dearie. But I'll go easy on you." He put his finger to his lips, deep in thought, as I slipped the shoes back on and put the katana back in its sheath.

"I will give you the potion you seek, with two conditions. One, I choose the location in which you drink it. And two," he stepped forward menacingly, "you must drink it in front of me."

I exhaled and my lower lip quivered. Oh, that's cold. How heartless is he? He wants to see me go from loving him to hating him?

Fine, then I'll give him one hell of a show.

I pursed my lips with greater resolve and clenched my fists. "Agreed. Take me where you need to take me, as long as it's done now."

"Just let me gather my things," he said with a flourish of his arm. A handle attached to a large wooden box appeared in his hands. "And we'll set off."

He grabbed my arm and transported us to a dusty, dilapidated, one room house. He heaved the wooden box on the table and opened it. A transportable version of the shelves I once dusted in his lab appeared. While he prepared the potion, I explored the room. I looked out a nearby window; the few buildings in the area look similarly abandoned. I stepped back and something beneath my feet cracked: a broken spinning wheel.

I turned away from the window just as he turned to present me with the vial.

"Here you are, dearie. Bottoms up."

I took the vial of clear liquid and kept my eyes on him. He watched me keenly, patiently, tapping his fingertips together. I downed the whole potion in one swig, burning my throat. I slammed the empty vial on the table.

Rumpelstiltskin stared in shock at the empty vial. Then his wide-eyed gaze fell on me.

"You … you drank it."

I blinked and stood akimbo. "Of course I drank it! Why would I ask for it in the first place if not to drink it?"

He pointed at me accusingly. "Because maybe the queen put you up to asking for it."

I growled in frustration. "Oh, for the last time, stop it with the queen!" I was so angry, I could feel the potion taking affect. "You are still a coward, still looking for excuses, and you don't deserve my love. And yet you have it anyway and do you know why? Because it's True Love and I cannot control it. It's there and no matter what I do to fight it, to forget it, it's not going away. And now it can finally, finally…"

During my speech, he backed up to the wall of the hut and slid down it, but the action neglected my notice.

My voice trailed off before I could start to cry. I blinked in confusion as I tried to assess my feelings.

"How long does it take for the potion to set in?" I asked.

"Oh for most people, it takes a minute. For others the effect is more immediate." His breathing was shallow and his body was shaking.

I began pacing in frustration. Yes, I felt anger. But my love was just as strong. "It's not working! Make me another one."

I grabbed the bottle he poured the potion from.

The label read vodka.

I turned to him in shock.

"Oops," he quipped, a finger covering his mouth in mocking. "But it is what people drink to forget."

I slammed the bottle back on the shelf. "Give me the potion!" I demanded.

He shook his head. "No," he answered quietly.

"Give it to me!" I'm surprised at the strength of my voice.

But Rumpelstiltskin was just as adamant. "I will not!"

I finally came to my senses and noticed the sweat on his brow. He was shivering as if he had hypothermia.

I squatted down to his level and placed my hand on his forehead with concern. His eyes closed and he sighed at my touch.

"You're running a fever," I noted.

"So much for me never getting sick, huh. Been too long since I've had your prune-laced oatmeal obviously."

I tilted my head to the side. "Well, you're still your sarcastic self, so that has to be a good sign."

He put his head in his hands. "The curse isn't happy with me right now," he mumbled.

I scanned the cabin for signs of water or a rag that I could use as a cold compress. My need for the potion was long forgotten. "Let me scrounge for a cloth… some water… some…"

I moved to stand back up, but he grabbed my arm and pulled me off balance. I landed in his lap and yelped in surprise.

And then his lips were against mine.

At first I didn't react. I was so shocked and in disbelief as I lay cradled in his arms. And then his fingers combed through my hair, his thumb caressed my cheek, and I became putty in his hands.

The curse slowly left him, and the anger slowly left me.

After a full minute of kissing, I felt tears on my cheeks that were not my own. I opened my eyes to see the man I only briefly glimpsed before.

His deep dark brown eyes gazed into mine with such love, admiration and anguish. The walls he had once kept so fortified were torn down.

"I'm sorry," he began, "but I had to know for sure that you really still ... It makes no sense that you do ... not safe at the dark castle if I lost my powers there … My son, finding him … I couldn't, but I can now ... "

I wiped the tears away, bemused at his inability to complete a thought. "You don't have to get me drunk to get me to kiss you," I quipped.

My lips covered his this time. It had been a full 10 seconds since I last kissed him, far too long a period. His explanation would have to be gradually spread over 10 second breaks until it was completed — which he was having enough trouble doing anyway whether I kissed him or not.

When he noticed I showed no signs of stopping, he chuckled at my brazenness. "The curse is gone, Belle," he explained with a twinkle in his eye.

"Better safe," I paused between kisses, "then sorry."

His arms surrounded me, pulling me closer. He laughed. Not a cackle but an honest to goodness, from-the-belly kind of laugh.

I opened my eyes — my real eyes this time — and found myself in the field. Rumpelstiltskin's laughter echoed in my ears. My lips still tingled from his kisses.

Oh, I cannot describe the agony in discovering that all I described did not happen.

In the distance, Minamoto was a small figure dressed in black and flanked by two horses. His arms were folded in front of him.

The wind blew as if it taunted me.

I rose slowly and walked back to him, my heart in agony. The vision was so vivid that it felt like I was living it. But then it was ripped from me, a figment of my imagination. So close to my dream, and again snatched away.

"That was cruel," I spat, bumping my shoulder against Minamoto's.

"Cruel?" he turned and asked in confusion. "What did you see?"

I grabbed my horse's reins. "Me getting my heart's desire. And me actually believing I was living it."

"That tree showed you what you must do to get what you want," he explained.

I turned harshly to him. "Then I should not be here!"

He reacted as if I slapped him. I immediately regretted my words. But they were the truth, I realized. I enjoyed learning what I did and the adventures I had to date, but now I needed to go back, to try one last time. To fight for True Love.

"If that's what it told you," he whispered.

I hopped on the horse. He slowly got on his own and sighed.

"When are you leaving?" he asked.

I didn't answer right away. I gazed at the tree and then looked at my hands, trying to formulate a plan as thoughts swirled through my mind. "Tomorrow morning," I answered.

He nodded, the tension in his face palpable.

"So what I saw in my vision — is that my future?" I asked.

"It's a possible future."

"But his feelings," I began. "He expressed things to me that …"

"Those are real," Minamoto interrupted. "Whether they are expressed in the same manner, however, may be another story."

I smiled. Rumpelstiltskin felt deeply for me and regretted his actions, just as I predicted — perhaps even more than I predicted. "That's all I needed to know." I could feel my resolve growing and my courage rising at the thought of going back to him.

Now that I made my decision, I amazingly felt at peace.

I looked back at the cherry tree and smiled, thanking it. It's boughs waved in the breeze at me, as if saying goodbye.

"It's amazing that the cherry tree is just like the one I sat under a year ago," I observed.

Minamoto looked at me askance. "You see a cherry tree?" he asked.

I blinked. "Yes. What do you see?"

"I see a weeping willow."

"So it changes depending on who is around."

Minamoto shook his head. "Not quite. You just don't go out and pick a style off a tree one day. The tree is inside you, growing naturally."

I liked that idea. I replayed the words in my head as we headed back to the school.

Minamoto was unnervingly quiet for most of the trip.

"And what did you see when you last sat under that tree?" I asked, trying to make conversation.

Minamoto kept his eyes on the road ahead. "I saw that I needed to go to Arabia."

I blushed and bit my lip. I was too uncomfortable to ask for more details, but I had a feeling it had to do with me. After a few more minutes of silence, I changed tactics.

"Minamoto, the ninja students in class were playing a game earlier and asked me to envision a body of water. Do you know what that means?"

He laughed and I relaxed a little. "The size of the body of water envisioned is directly proportional to one's libido."

"Oh," I responded with alarm.

I guess in more ways than one, Rumpelstiltskin was in for a heck of a surprise.


	15. Ogres Are Not Men

_May 22_

_5pm_

Two months have past since my epiphany. I can't get back to him soon enough. I keep rereading my last entry, replaying that vision of our reunion in my mind. It gives me the strength to move forward.

Minamoto insisted on accompanying me. He made all of the arrangements and booked passage for us to Arabia. We trained on the deck of the ship, much the chagrin of the crew. I'm now pretty adept with a katana.

We are staying at Sultan Aladdin's palace for a week before our next ship out. From there we pass through ogre country and then to my homeland. Oh, it will feel so good to be home! I keep picturing that. What will Rumpelstiltskin do or say when he sees me?

Staying here a week is not my idea. Minamoto says we need the rest before we continue, especially since we will be dealing with ogres. I vehemently objected – every minute that I'm not moving is an extra minute that I'm taking away from my future with Rumpelstiltskin. Minamoto sarcastically retorted that I'd be with my "precious true love" soon enough and better to be a week late than dead due to fatigue and bad judgment.

I am not relaxing as much as I would like. And I don't think Minamoto is either.

On our first day at the Sultan's we encountered an Indian princess named Aishwarya and her entourage, guests of the Sultan's.

"Minamoto?" she asked at our introduction. As Minamoto bowed to her, she punched him in jaw. Minamoto fell on his back. She stepped over him bristling as he stared at the ceiling, stunned.

"That is for attacking my father at the Taj Mahal."

Aishwarya is betrothed to some high official in her father's government and agreed to marry him only on the condition that she be allowed to take this trip.

A neverending trip, it seems.

When she heard my tale, she informed me that she and her entourage would accompany me to the fateful meeting. "I've never known true love, nor will I ever," she explained to me sadly. "I want to witness it, to aide in the fight for it."

Since then, I've been a doll for her to dress up in her saris. She says my choice of outfit will be critical when I see Rumpelstiltskin, and I have to make a fashion statement that will remind him how much he loves me. Of course, the whole point of true love is that I could be wearing a potato sack and he'd still have the same reaction, but Aishwarya doesn't understand this distinction. She uses Minamoto as the male whose opinion matters most. He's not amused, as he'd rather have me in training, and not looking at me dressed beautifully and paraded around in front of him as someone he cannot have. He and Aishwarya bicker constantly. But she has packed an outfit of the finest silk in my bag that in her opinion will make me irresistible to Rumpelstiltskin. Whatever.

Yesterday I suddenly realized that my dream of an incredibly private moment with Rumpelstiltskin would be anything but under these current conditions. Aishwarya's guards would announce my arrival with trumpeted fanfare. Minamoto would fume silently in the distance. Aishwarya would remind me that when I kiss Rumpelstiltskin she wants to see a fair amount of tongue.

What a nightmare of a reunion. Rumpelstiltskin would turn them all to slugs — and I would be the one to gladly step on them.

So I have come to a decision. I am leaving tonight. Minamoto thinks the ship leaves tomorrow as it originally was supposed to, but I talked to the ship's captain about how he'd not only be traveling two weeks with a ninja who practices moves on deck while the crew worked, but also with a notoriously demanding Indian princess.

The crew voted unanimously to leave tonight.

Minamoto has helped me all I can. Besides, there is something I notice between him in Aishwarya. The way they argue — I can't describe it. Something is starting to bloom between them. Of course neither sees it. But since I've experienced something similar, I see it wherever I look.

Minamoto dreamed of finding something in Arabia. Maybe he actually has.

* * *

_June 6_

_5pm_

I arrived in port and with the captain's help I've purchased a horse named Black Beauty and the supplies I will need to sustain me for the summer.

While on the ship, I studied maps of my route. There are a few war zones that I will need to detour around, and I know I will have to improvise around battles that no one could have predicted.

But by the end of September, I will be in his arms. It will be an autumn to remember.

* * *

_June 9_

_1pm_

I've already hit my first unexpected snafu.

For the past couple of days, I've been able to avoid all ogres. I'm not very far into their territory yet. But while riding this morning, I came across an injured ogre, bloodied and almost near death's door.

My guard immediately rose. His injuries looked like war wounds. If he had wandered away, the battle must be fairly close.

As I rode by, he opened his eyes. He looked at me beseechingly as I passed him.

That look has been haunting me throughout lunch.

I have to turn back. I have to help him somehow. Yes, as my father said, ogres are not men, but they are creatures nonetheless. If I did not offer help, then I would be just as barbaric as my father claims they are. Someone has to be the better man.

Or woman.

* * *

_June 16_

_9am_

I have spent a week tending to his wounds. A week of not moving. A week less of supplies. And although I hate to admit it, I am glad I did it.

I have never been this close to an ogre before. He is twice my size, but has so far been very gentle (except when I put ointment on his wounds – then I have to be careful). He is also mute; I don't know if that's a result of the war wound or if he's always been this way. But he is healing and moving again. Yesterday I saw him smile at me for the first time. I didn't know ogres could smile.

I am packed and leaving now. I am going to wish him luck on his journey, and hopefully I'll have luck with mine.

_2pm_

He followed me.

"Ogre," I told him gently, "I appreciate the company, but you can go your own way. You don't have to accompany me."

At least I was hoping that his goal was to accompany me — and not hunting me for his lunch.

He shook his head. Then he bowed to me. It seems that he is indebted to me for saving him and he plans to pay that debt.

This may not be a bad idea.

"I am on a long journey to return to my homeland," I explained. "If you'd like to see me through safely, whatever debt you feel you have to me will definitely be paid."

He bowed again.

I didn't know ogres could be gracious.

* * *

_July 3_

_8pm_

I can't tell you how rewarding traveling with Ogre has been. (I call him that because I don't know his real name and he has no way to communicate to me. I asked him if he minds that and he shook his head.) He has been leading the way. We are completely off the map, but he knows where we are going — and more importantly, where the ogres are and aren't. He can smell his own kind around and leads me away from them. His company is so invaluable.

I was foolish to think I could navigate through enemy territory on my own. I am so grateful that I did the human thing and stopped to help him. Ogre knows his homeland like the back of his hand and knows the best spots to scavenge. At the end of each day, we set up camp and he hunts. I've learned that he prefers his meat cooked very rare, and I've discovered some of the indigenous vegetation can nicely flavor the meat. It's a homey arrangement.

He seems to understand me, so I talk and he gladly listens. I told him about what I'm doing, that I am going home to my true love. He adamantly nodded and pointed to himself. It seems we have something in common.

I didn't know ogres could love. Maybe ogres have more in common with humans than once thought.

* * *

_July 28_

_4pm_

I had quite a scare this morning. While Ogre was getting breakfast, a group of ogres jumped out of the brush around the campsite and grabbed me. They immediately disarmed me of my katana. I screamed, but my fear only excited them. They snickered and grunted as they threw me around to each other.

Ogre jumped out of nowhere and caught me while I was in midair. They growled at him, but he remained steadfast. He didn't have to make a single noise; the anger on his face said it all — and he removed the club from his belt as the exclamation point. The lack of noise actually made him seem more menacing — as if he thought the ogres were not worth the sound of his voice.

They grumbled and shuffled away. He kept me close to him for the next 10 minutes, his guard up, his eyes darting all along the camp. Finally he felt safe enough to put me down. He bent down to retrieve my katana and handed it to me gingerly. Then he went over to the fire and sat down to eat as if nothing happened.

I walked to the campfire and collapsed next to him in an exhausted daze.

He picked lice off his head and offered it to me.

"Thank you, Ogre, but I'm good. Why don't you enjoy them instead?"

He shrugged as if to say it was my loss and bit into them.

* * *

_September 15_

_8pm_

This morning Ogre took me to a clearing. I recognized the topography in the distance.

"That's my homeland!" I exclaimed. "We are less than a day away!"

He nodded. I hugged him in exhilaration. In one week, I'd reach the dark castle!

I pulled away to look at him. Who would have guessed a few months before that I'd be hugging an ogre? "Thank you so much, Ogre. I would not have made it this far without you."

He indicated to me that the feeling was mutual.

"I hope you feel your debt to me is paid in full," I said. "I consider it so."

He tilted his head to the side and smiled. He held up his index finger and took my hand in his, opening it palm up. Then he reached into his pouch and dropped a small object into my open palm.

A clear kidney-shaped bean.

"Oh Ogre, thank you," I graciously accepted.

I have no idea what I would ever do with it, but he looks quite proud of himself, and it seems to be his most prized possession. It does shine slightly. Maybe he found it somewhere and thought it was pretty.

As I placed the bean carefully in my bag, a rustle caught my attention. A female ogre emerged from the trees. I instinctively grabbed my katana.

She hissed and lunged at me.

Ogre stepped in front of her. Infuriated, she started to beat him. Ogre took her beating and squirming willingly. He held her in his arms and would not let her go.

I recognized the look on Ogre's face as he held her. The look of true love.

My pack lay open and I saw the sari Aishwarya had given me. I put the katana away and pulled the sari out. The ogress calmed as Ogre kissed her cheek. She stopped fighting, but looked put out.

"Your ogre has gone through great pains to get back to you and has brought me to present this garment to you, the loveliest ogress in all the land. He wants you to know that it is one of the few garments in the world worthy of your beauty."

Her face softened, highly flattered. She took the garment and felt it through her fingers. She jumped for joy. I lunged out of the way.

She hugged and kissed Ogre.

I winked at him and he winked at me. Then I mounted Black Beauty and took off. The ogress didn't notice.

The moans coming from behind me reminded me that I got out in the nick of time. I had to laugh. If Aishwarya knew what had become of her prized sari! Well, a female would be wearing it for her true love after all!

I galloped into my homeland just before dinner and am now tucked in at an inn for the night.

I am here! A reunion is only days away. My heart sings!

I will not write until I see him again. No more dreaming it — I will finally be living it! And I hope that the reality is even better than the dream!


	16. Dark Castle Dreams

_September 18_

_9am_

Oh, you'll never believe where I am right now. Snuggled under the covers in Rumpelstiltskin's bed!

I woke up two mornings ago and put on my blue dress, something I haven't worn in ages. For the final part of my journey, when I'm finally so close to Rumpelstiltskin, I want to feel feminine. I checked out of the inn as quickly as I could and mounted Black Beauty. People were congregating at the tavern bar celebrating something at an oddly early hour, but I didn't want to wait around to hear what was going on.

I rode for two days and finally arrived at the dark castle yesterday afternoon.

As I approached the front door, I stepped on two beetles. Two others ran away. Four sets of thieves' tools sat in a heap nearby.

I knocked on the door. When there was no answer, I pushed it to see if it would open. It did for me.

"Hello?"

No one answered.

I walked in and was welcomed by the creepy roses that now seemed like old friends. I swung around and closed the door gratefully.

I raced into the collection room. The table was dusty and cobwebs filled the corners of the room.

"Hello, dear marionettes," I greeted with glee. I dusted them off with a cloth. Then I sat down at his spindle and started spinning, just for the heck of it. My heart soared.

"So where is the castle master this fine afternoon, hmm?" I asked. "Shall you join me for a tour?"

I took the marionettes off their perch and turned to leave the room. That's when I noticed the pedestal in the corner that used to hold the gold chalice.

It now held the chipped teacup.

Tears welled in my eyes.

"Hello?" I called out again. I raced out of the room and up the stairs to his lab, the marionettes in my arms. I felt guilty walking into it, so I scanned the room from the doorway.

The lab was just as dusty as the collection room. There were no changes except one: He had found a way to bottle true love. His collection was complete.

"Good for you," I whispered. "You'd been wanting that for awhile."

I left the lab and walked to his bedroom. This room was even dustier. The bed didn't look like it had been slept in, and I wondered where his travels had taken him.

I lay the marionettes at the foot of the bed and climbed under the covers. I could smell his scent faintly on the pillow. After a year and a half on the road without a comfortable mattress (save for the time spent at the Sultan's) I fell into a deep sleep.

I opened my eyes and looked up to see the cherry blossoms dancing in the wind. I glanced down and noticed I was wearing a beautiful, capped sleeve, white chiffon gown underneath a lace appliqué skirt. The skirt was embroidered with little flowers that resembled the cherry blossoms I held in my hands.

I wiggled my toes. I was barefoot.

I laughed and skipped along the orchard. I turned and saw Rumpelstiltskin at the end of a row, in front of the largest cherry tree at the orchard's center.

No longer cursed, he was smartly dressed in an untucked white button-down shirt and khaki pants. He was barefoot as well. He held his breath at the sight of me and slowly exhaled.

He couldn't take his eyes off of me nor I him as I walked down the row of cherry trees towards him. It wasn't until I reached Rumpelstiltskin that I noticed the cleric standing next to him.

We recited our vows to each other. I don't remember the words, but I remember the feelings as I said them. The way he looked at me with such emotion in his dark brown eyes as he said them. The final kiss.

A deal struck.

He took my hand in his and we started running through the orchard, both breathless and laughing. He limped as if something was wrong with his right leg, but he wasn't about to let that stop him. Finally his leg gave out underneath him and he fell. Since I was holding his hand, I fell on top of him.

We caught our breath and stared into each other eyes as the wind whistled around us. Stray hairs escaped from the pins in my hair and lightly tickled his face. He tucked the strays behind my ears and held my face in his hands. Then we kissed again, this time deeper and with more yearning. His hands slowly descended down my neck and pushed the cap sleeve of my dress off my shoulders.

And that's when I awoke.

I stared at the ceiling of his bedroom and listened as my racing heart slowly returned to normal.

Oh come on, stupid dream, you had to stop there! You were just getting good!

Well, at least I've taken the time to write every detail in my diary so I can relive it whenever I want to.

It's morning and I'm going to explore the Dark Castle further. He never came to bed, so I know he never came home. Where is he?

_2pm_

I stood in the foyer biting my lip, wondering if I dared to set foot in the library — and what I might find there.

I finally steeled myself, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

The room was exactly as I left it. There were no differences except one.

The library ceiling was permanently enchanted with my favorite constellation.

I collapsed on the rug and cried tears of joy staring at it. I imagined his fingers running through my hair as I lay there.

A few minutes later, I brushed my tears away and climbed the stairs to my bedroom. Since the library was fairly unchanged, I expected my room to look exactly the same.

To my surprise, it wasn't.

My personal effects mingled with many of Rumpelstiltskin's. Some of his clothes hung in the wardrobe near my yellow ball gown. The rest were strewn around the room and on the upholstered chair and ottoman. The bed was unmade on one side, the pillow indented. My nightgown was folded neatly on the pillow on the opposite side of the bed. I noticed the maple syrup stain was still on it from when he made me breakfast in bed.

He has been sleeping in here!

I climbed into bed and settled in, writing the above account. His scent is strong on the pillow.

I don't know where he is, or what he's doing. But I'm not going anywhere right now. I'm burying my head into his pillow and I hope I have another dream.

I finished the dishes tonight while R was still reading to Ava. Sam went down easy enough, as he always does, but Ava is another story. Always "one more story". I don't bargain, but R spoils her so and gives in. At the tender age of 4 she knows how to manipulate people to get her way. I joke that she has her father's negotiating skills and he jokes that she has her mother's pout, and that's why she always gets her way with him. I told him he needs to take her to market next time because I'm sure she'd sell our wares and buy our necessities with a better price than even he could.

He talked to me tonight about Sam's birthday next week. We have no money saved: All the straw that R spun into gold he distributed in restitution to those he had wronged. This doesn't bother me in the least, but the lack of money bothers R.

"You are the best spinner in the kingdom," I declared. "And everyone knows it! We can eventually save…"

"How many years has it taken us already?" he asked. "Sam is six, and we've known he's a musical savant since he was two!" He collapsed into the rocking chair, ran his hands through his hair, and sighed. "I am his father. I need to provide for him, give him all the opportunities I can. He has talent, Belle. He is a brilliant musician and he needs an instrument to display it on."

I reluctantly nodded as R looked pained. I know he is thinking of his lost son. Failing one son is somehow failing the other as well.

"There is a woodworker two villages away named Geppetto," I suggested. "He can build anything from wood. Let Sam go there once a week and learn woodworking. He has a son who is Sam's age, so I'm sure he won't object. This way Sam can learn a skill and make his own violin. Think of the pride that can come from that. It won't be the best violin in the world, but it will be all his.

R looked at me in wonder, a slow grin growing across his face. "My Belle. All about self-sufficiency."

"You know it."

Then he led me outside to see our constellation. He lay in the grass and I lay my head on his stomach like I did that night in the Dark Castle. His hands combed through my hair. A shooting star flew by.

He sighed. "You and the children deserve all the best things in the world, and I wish I could give them to you, instead of changing our name and living in hiding."

"We deserve the best husband and father in the world – and we have it. Nothing else matters. You are well respected here and we are making a good life of it. Don't you think?"

"Yes," he sighed. "And I am so afraid of losing it." He tilted his head to the side so he could get a better look at me. "What are you doing with a man like me, Belle? One without money and without magic."

I rolled over onto my stomach and crossed my arms beneath my breasts. My eyes twinkled as I tried to look as alluring as possible. "Oh, you still have magic in you."

He grinned and waved his fingers in the way he used to in his old life and I burst out laughing. Then he pulled me toward him, kissed me passionately and made love to me under the stars.

I just woke up and had to write the above down because that was the best damn dream I've had in ages.

Where is he?

_5pm_

Humming to myself, I decided to head to the village tavern. If anyone knows where Rumpelstiltskin might be, it's the village busybodies.

I arrived during a joyous celebration.

The farmer who made deliveries to the Dark Castle announced at my arrival. "Hey, it's the girl he made his slave who escaped!"

The crowd turned and cheered as I made my entrance.

I looked around. "What is going on?" I asked.

My eyes fell on Sally and Vera. They wrung their hands and looked pained at my arrival.

"You haven't heard the news?" a patron asked aghast. "Rumpelstiltskin has been captured!"

"His reign of terror is over!" another announced.

"A deal was his undoing in the end. HA! Served him right," a third proclaimed.

Mugs clinked and cheers erupted.

I stood there numb. Then their words started to sink in. It took all my energy not to grab my katana and slice them all in two.

Instead I grabbed a seat at the bar and started writing this account in my diary as people celebrate around me. I can see Sally and Vera trying to make their way through the crowd to me. I don't want to talk to them.

My happiness, everything I ever wanted, is now gone. I get so close, close enough to touch it, and True Love alludes me yet again. There is no hope. No point. I am destined to be rejected and alone. The best thing to do is just accept it. And maybe, considering my vision…

I have something in mind that I think I'll give a try.


	17. Men Are Idiots

**A/N: You might want to reread Chapter 4 – Tackling The Challenges. You'll see why later on.**

_September 20_

_7pm_

My head only feels like an axe split it open. This is better than yesterday when it felt like a dwarf's axe split it open.

Shortly after my last diary entry, I noticed a fairy in her human-size form sadly nursing a mug of ale. She seemed out of place, and since I did as well, I moved to sit beside her.

"Shouldn't you be rejoicing that Rumpelstiltskin is locked away?" I asked.

She stared at her mug and nodded. "I am supposed to be celebrating with my fairy friends. There's a big party going on right now." She ran her finger across the rim. "He killed a fairy last year who was the Blue Fairy's second in command. So now I am her second in command. My career is really skyrocketing."

I shook my head as Sally and Vera approached and pointed at this fairy, indicating that I wanted to talk to her alone. They reluctantly followed my advice and stayed back.

"You don't sound too happy about that," I noted as I tried to get the barkeep's attention.

The fairy shrugged. "If you can't be happy with the one you love, what's the point?"

"Exactly," I stated emphatically. This fairy and I were on the same page. "I'm Belle, by the way."

The fairy tried to smile. "I'm Nova," she introduced herself.

The barkeep approached. Now was the time to institute the coping mechanism I had in mind, thanks to my vision.

"Do you have any vodka?" I asked.

A part of me wondered if I just imagined the drink, that maybe it didn't exist. But the barkeep looked behind the bar.

"We never get asked for anything more than ale, but … ah, yes we do! I found a bottle of the stuff."

"Perfect!" I declared. She poured me a shot and when I indicated that I wanted one for Nova as well, she poured another. Then I grabbed the bottle out of her grasp. As she started to object, I dropped gold coins into her hand. She reluctantly took them and left us alone.

I turned to Nova. "You and I are going to share this lovely drink and it's going to help us forget about our men."

Nova's eyes widened at the idea. She readily took the shot glass and swallowed its contents. I snickered at her eagerness and took a shot myself. It burned just as it did in my vision.

"I really thought I was over him," Nova started her tale. "I was supposed to attend a meeting with the Blue Fairy at Snow White's castle to discuss preparations for the curse. But she told me I shouldn't bother joining her because 'that dwarf' was there. And I thought that was odd. Why was he no longer working in the diamond mines? And she said, 'Oh, because he stole a diamond to propose to the woman he loves'." Nova looked as if she was hearing the news for the first time all over again. Her voice dripped with venom. "And I just stood there and thought, 'The woman he loves? Well, good for whoever that floozy is'." Her face collapsed into a sob and her voice became a high-pitched squeal. "Because it's certainly not me!"

She wept on my shoulder.

I patted her back, poured us both another drink that I quickly downed, and tried to philosophize. "Men think they know what is best for us. But they don't. They don't even consult us about what we want. Just make all the grandiose decisions on their own, and WE have to pay the price."

Nova continued sobbing. "My Dreamy was going to propose marriage to someone else! I wasn't even worthy of a damn boat ride!"

I shook my head and hiccupped after swallowing my third shot. "Men are idiots. That's all there is to it."

After this comment, events get a bit hazy. I vaguely remember dancing on the bar and leading the patrons in a chant.

"Rumpelstiltskin has been captured … He can't hurt us anymore … Rumpelstiltskin has been captured … He can't hurt us anymore…"

I think I even dove into the crowd.

Sometime later Nova whisked me to an overlook at Prince Thomas and Cinderella's castle. I must have told her to leave me there, because I remember sitting there alone, trying to guess which of the small slits at the castle base led to his cell. Then I passed out.

Strong arms picked me up and carried me away. I tried to tell whoever held me to just dump my body in the cell next to his. But I couldn't speak and it was just nicer to drift back to sleep.

When I awoke, I regretted being alive. I really longed for that dark cell from earlier.

I groaned, my head pounding, and blinked.

Someone was leaning over me. Adrenaline rushed through me and I bolted upright.

"B-b-b-Belle?" a male voice asked.

I knew that voice from somewhere. I blinked again, trying to get my eyes to focus. A square-jawed, muscular fellow with bright blue eyes and a winning smile came into view.

"Charlie Afton?"

He smiled and nodded.

"What are you doing here?" I looked around and noticed I was in a well-kept one-room cottage. "And where is here?"

"It's m-m-m-my house. I-I-I-I f-f-f-found you..." He stopped speaking and sighed. Then he began to sing his words. "I found you at the castle overlook at sunrise; a most welcome and unexpected surprise."

I smiled at his use of verse. "I'm glad you took my advice. The world would be a better place if we just sang our way through life. It must be a relief to be able to speak as quickly as you think."

He nodded adamantly.

I rubbed my temples. "You're not in the village anymore?"

Charlie shook his head. "Not s-s-s-afe."

I squinted. "Yes, I found that out firsthand." I lay back down. Charlie placed a cool cloth over my forehead, shocking my system. I groaned and placed my hand over his. "Oh, Charlie, thank you – that feels wonderful. Just keep your hand right there."

And then, to my surprise, another all-too-familiar voice from my past rang out.

"That's not what a wife wants to hear when she enters her house."

I blinked in alarm. Charlie quickly removed his hand.

Just when I am at my lowest point, this one person always shows up to remind of it.

"Betsy Peadie!"

**A/N: I tried to combine this chapter with the next, but it wasn't working, and that's what took me so long. I'll try to get the next one up soon.  
**


	18. Rescue Me

**A/N: My apologies again for the lateness. Surprised that Betsy is here? After I mentioned her so much, she had to make a cameo at the worst possible time. Because that's what the Betsy Peadies of the world do best! ;)**

"Betsy Afton, if you don't mind," she corrected me, placing a bucket of water on the table. "Good to see you too, Belle. Always a pleasure when you look so terrible."

"B-b-be n-n-n-nice, Betsy."

Betsy smirked at her husband. He kissed her cheek and looked back at me. Then he left the house.

I covered my hands in my face, wishing myself into the solitude of that dark cell I yearned for earlier. Anything to get away from Betsy Peadie.

I could hear her move a chair to the bed and sit down.

"So, Belle," she began gleefully, "what brings you into a state of rip-roaring drunkenness?"

I groaned in response and removed my hands from my head.

"Don't get me wrong," she continued, "it has been quite enjoyable. Especially when you tried to get out of the house and you ended up walking in circles." She pointed at the ceiling. "Walking up the one wall, across the ceiling, and down the other wall kind of circles."

I pulled the pillow out from under my head and placed it over my face. "I'm not about to discuss it with you!" my muffled voice declared.

"It has something to do with Rumpelstiltskin, doesn't it," Betsy wisely noted.

I removed the pillow and looked pleadingly at Betsy. My heart was beating in my temples. I just wanted it to stop.

"He stole my life from me. I had True Love and he ripped it away from me!"

That was enough information without giving too much away. Releasing the overflow without bursting the dam.

Betsy crossed her arms and bit her lip. "I have a hard time picturing you in love. You ignored all men who were ever interested in you, and they still kept coming at you for more." She looked at the ceiling, deep in thought. "If you had a True Love, it would be with some brilliant, brooding, deep, dark, mysterious, misunderstood man. And the idea that you found that and Rumpelstiltskin took it from you …"

She paused and looked at me askance. Then her jaw slacked. She slowly turned her head to me, her eyes flashing with sudden illumination.

"HIM? You're in love with …"

I covered her mouth with my hand. "Don't you dare say it aloud!"

I slowly removed my hand. She kept her lips pursed and followed my advice.

She burst out laughing instead. After a minute or so, she'd stop laughing, and then she'd look at me and it would start all over again.

"Oh, that is so … tragic!" She wiped tears away from her eyes and sighed. "And he let you go." She assessed me keenly. "So that means the feeling is mutual."

I looked at my hands and frowned, waiting for her insult.

"Belle, even the most powerful wizard in the world isn't immune to your charm."

I squinted in scrutiny at her. "You excel at giving backhanded compliments."

She shrugged. "It's not a backhanded compliment. It's the truth." It was her turn to squint in scrutiny at me. "You really believe that everything I say must be a taunt in your direction."

"It usually is! You hate me!"

"No. You hate me, remember? You called me Betsy PeePee!"

I rolled my eyes. "By the gods, Betsy, we were six years old! If you haven't gotten over that…"

"Oh stop it with the whole 'holier than thou' crap. You have always thought you were better than me and you try to remind me of it at every turn."

"No, you stop it. You do that all the time to ME!"

Betsy's eyes flashed. "Well, what am I supposed to do? It's always been harder for me because you were the one I was supposed to emulate. You didn't have to endure 'Oh Betsy, you'll never be as pretty as Belle, but if you act like she's supposed to act, that might not matter.' It's not my fault if people compared us. They were just using me to get you to act the way they wanted. And it infuriated me because you didn't care about all the things you were supposed to care about, the things that I did indeed care about!"

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh, like that idiot Gaston?"

She bristled. "Yes, Gaston. Who it might interest you to know did try to save you and then disappeared."

I stared at the wall ahead and shook my head. "I didn't need saving."

Betsy looked at me from head to toe. "No, of course not, because look at you now, Little Miss Ninja, with your curvy sword thingie and your magic shoes that defy gravity! Instead of wallowing in self-pity saying 'Wah, my True Love is a jailbird', go DO something about it. Break him out of jail, beat the soul back into him, shag his brains out, and get ON with it."

I looked at her aghast. Then my face brightened.

Yes, why couldn't I do that?

I started pacing with excitement, barely feeling the hangover as the adrenaline pumped through my body. "I'm going to need to plan. To observe. Charm some guards out of some intel." I stopped in my tracks. "Am I actually doing this?"

Betsy shrugged. "Sounds that way to me."

I grinned and rubbed my hands together eagerly. Then I looked at her. Come on, this was Betsy Peadie.

"This is a trap," I suggested. "You are going to report me."

Betsy rolled her eyes. "Belle, if anyone can stop this curse from coming, it's him. And if anyone can convince him to stop it, it's you."

"The curse?" I asked.

Betsy's eyes widened. "You don't know about the curse?" She conveyed the whole story to me. I became more resolved to getting Rumpelstiltskin out. I knew he hated the queen, and I didn't want her succeeding at anything that would destroy my newfound happiness.

The adrenaline was wearing off now, and my headache was returning. I laid back down on the bed.

Betsy stared at the wall with a far-away look in her eye. "Belle, do you remember when you first called me Betsy Pee-Pee?"

I shook my head.

"My father bought me these beautiful barrettes. Your father saw them and said he wanted to give them to you, so my father handed them over. And lo and behold, you were wearing my barrettes the next day. Then this strange man walked by that everybody steered clear of, and I was so mad at you that I whispered you would marry him one day. And you got mad at me and called me Betsy Pee-Pee."

Images from my memory slowly appeared. "Yes, it was a strange man with skin that …" My eyes widened.

Betsy nodded triumphantly. "Now you know why I was laughing so much earlier."

I let the memory sink in.

"Are you clairvoyant, Betsy?" I asked.

Betsy shook her head. "Nope. I just know you better than you think I do."

I'll say.

* * *

_October 2_

_9pm_

If you told me that after living two weeks with Betsy Peadie, we'd both still be alive to tell the tale, I'd have been shocked. But things have been good between us. We've had a few good talks about the old days.

"When did you start liking Charlie?" I asked late one night. "You used to make fun of him all the time."

She smiled with a far away look in her eye. "Yeah, I know. I was trying hard not to like him because I didn't want anyone to taunt me, so I taunted him instead. And he let me because he knew the truth."

Such a typical thing for teenagers to do.

In return I told her about Rumpelstiltskin finding me in his clothes hanging from the chandelier. I haven't told her all stories, but I have told a few funny ones where I gave him his come-uppance. She laughed and said she wasn't surprised. Retelling them has been like reliving them, and that has helped me cope with not being with him.

Today Betsy helped me with intel gathering and we charmed some guards by posing as twins. I got the most intel in one day about the dungeon than I ever did on my own.

Charlie was not happy when he heard, but he got his revenge with his sing-song summary of our early hatred of each other.

"Belle hates you because your insults are the worst; Betsy hates you because you got boobs first."

Betsy was aghast and swatted at him. "That's not true! And what are you doing noticing her boobs anyway?"

He grinned. "Just remember," he said in sing-song as he stroked his wife's cheek. "It's never been Belle. It's always been Betsy."

Those two are very cute together. Getting out of the village and breaking out of our preconceived roles has been good for all of us.

I'm glad I found Betsy again. I have a greater sense of peace about that part of my life now, and I think she does as well.

* * *

_October 23_

_1pm_

I have done all my intel. I have schematics of the castle and I've studied them extensively. I know the rotation schedule of the guards and their weaknesses. Rumpelstiltskin is so heavily guarded that I've had to study and befriend each of the dimwits. From what I've heard, they all have a bet as to who is going to bed me first.

It will be fun smashing their heads in.

I've confirmed his location. I know which window slit leads to his cell. I have been sorely tempted to just walk up and slip a note down it, just to let him know I am here. I even have the note — a picture of a swan from our constellation — but I'm too afraid it might make its way into the wrong hands or tip off a guard. Let him be surprised when I come charging in to save him.

His cell is deliberately arranged to detect and delete all magic from anyone inside the cell and within the immediate vicinity. So I have to take the shoes off before I approach him. But after that, all I need to release him is the key from the head guard. And I have a copy of that key.

I have to succeed at all costs.

And tonight is when True Love wins.

**A/N: The final chapter is next and I'll post it after the season finale – sorry to cause such a long wait! Just a couple things I want to verify before I post so it can stay in canon!**

**Belle can walk up the wall and get Rumpelstiltskin on her own. No equipment, dwarves or fairies necessary. And most important, proper intel to verify that he is actually there. Because that's just how awesome Belle is — and why Rumpelstiltskin loves her so. ;)**


	19. Magical Return

**A/N: This is my longest chapter yet, and I'm STILL not done. I almost hate to stop writing. The NEXT ONE will be the last chapter. Yeah, that's the ticket. **

_May 14_

_1pm_

Well, it's a new life. Again.

And I've been shuttled into Rumpelstiltskin's house. Again.

And I found this empty recipe book in the kitchen that I'm using as my new diary. Again.

Let me start at the beginning because there is so much to tell.

The last time I wrote, I was about to rescue Rumpelstiltskin. Please forgive me, as it's been 28 years (according to Rumpelstiltskin) and I'm still processing memories. Thankfully in a way it's been better for me than it probably has been for others, because for me it was 28 years of being drugged and staring at the same four walls. So I don't have as many memories from this life to reconcile.

I was preparing for my evening break-in and as the sun was setting in a beautiful display of pinks and oranges, I saw huge dark clouds rolling in across the land at an unnaturally fast pace.

My eyes widened in terror. The curse was upon us.

I didn't have time to do anything I planned. I ran up the castle wall and down it, not caring who saw me. Everyone was running around in a panic, screaming and crying. I just needed to get to him as soon as possible. To be with him one last time, even if all I could do before the curse came was give him a fleeting glance.

The guards abandoned the dungeon. I had a clear path to him. The only resistance I met was people running the opposite way.

My pace quickened when I heard him cackling. Tears streamed down my face with each twist and turn I made. The black smoke was getting closer.

"Rumpelstiltskin!" I called out.

The cackling ceased. I exhaled sharply in relief. He heard me!

One more turn. All I needed was to make it to the next turn for him to see me.

But the black smoke enveloped me. It lifted me off my feet and suddenly I was falling.

I collapsed onto my knees, my arms yanked upward by two people on either side of me. My dress and shoes were gone and I was wearing a hospital gown. I knew it was a hospital gown, even though I didn't know what a hospital was. The dark clouds still surrounded my brain and impeded me from comprehending how this could be.

The dark-haired woman on my left tapped her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "That was much too close. He almost saw her."

"What's happening?" I asked groggily as I was dragged down a concrete hallway. "Where am I? What am I doing here?"

"You are a patient in a mental hospital suffering from schizophrenia," she explained. "You are a danger to yourself and others. It's in your best interests that you stay in here." She opened a door to a cell and shoved me inside.

She turned to the woman in a nurse's uniform who had held my right arm.

"Now you understand all of my instructions. No one is allowed to see her, and if anyone tries to visit, let me know immediately."

The nurse nodded and they slammed the door on me. But I didn't miss their last words. I replayed them in my mind.

It implied that there was someone out there who did want to see me.

The drugs left my brain fuzzy and without hope. The bright spot of my day was seeing the janitor. He kept the vent door open and stood guard at my door, pretending to mop. I talked to him, quietly enough so the nurse would not hear. Truth be told, talking his ear off about my hopes and dreams was the only way I maintained my sanity. He never spoke but indicated to me that he was unable to. He kept the vent open all day, and I knew that if he didn't want me talking, he wouldn't leave it like that. When he'd shut the vent abruptly, often when I was in mid-sentence, I knew the nurse was on her way and I had to look docile and drugged so maybe she'd lower my dosage.

One time, the nurse accidentally gave me something she shouldn't have and even though I was asleep, suddenly my brain was amazingly clear and I knew who I was, albeit it briefly. I was in a state of delirium, but I was living in my memories, finally acquiring access to them.

I must have been mumbling because when I awoke the dark-haired woman hovered over me.

"You had another schizophrenic delusion," she explained, although I could see the fear in her eyes.

I sat up, my head reeling, my memories fading. I was heartbroken. "What did I say?" I asked.

"Never mind," she answered, but from her expression I could tell that I revealed a lot. "You are refusing to accept that no one can love you, so you're imagining someone who does. But you want to make it realistic enough to trick your psyche. So you've made him a monster."

I could see the janitor bristling behind her, the wooden handle of the mop cracking in his fists.

The nurse rounded the corner and blocked my view of the janitor. "This is because SHE is in town," she insisted.

I had no idea what she was talking about. I still don't. All I knew was that I had some beautiful memories and they were fading away like a dream. But I wasn't going to let them go without a fight.

"You're wrong," I stated emphatically. "There is someone out there who loves me. It's why you said I shouldn't have visitors. It's because you know there is someone who wants to see me – and you're preventing it."

The dark-haired woman turned to the nurse. "She's having another delusion. Give her more diazepam."

The nurse grabbed my arm and injected me. The dark-haired woman moved her face close to mine so I could observe her malice.

"There is no one. No one cares about you. No one loves you. No one ever could. Who could love a deluded girl like you who dreams of loving an evil beast?" She rose and shook her head, clasping her hands in front of her. "How sad."

As she rose, I could see the janitor in the doorway. My last coherent thought was recognizing him.

"Ogre," I garbled before the haze overtook me.

And so I lay in a drug-induced haze for who knows how long. From then on, the nurse was much more careful about medications I was given.

And then last night, a few minutes after receiving my bedtime injection, a man entered my cell and told me to find Mr. Gold. My brain was so fuzzy — if only he had come five minutes sooner! But I listened to his directions and kept repeating them as I shuffled through the streets. Thankfully there was a huge neon sign that said "Mr. Gold" on it, or else I never would have found it.

I walked in, the bell announcing my arrival. I repeated the instructions to the man behind the counter, willing my brain to work. He seemed to know me. My father maybe? Older brother? He couldn't be a lover. He would have kissed me if he were a lover. He had to be some sort of family relation then. He seemed very distraught to see me and discover that I didn't know him. Stupid medications. He hugged me and assured me that he would protect me. But first, he had to take me somewhere with him.

I wish I had known what was going on at the time, how monumental us meeting again would be. All those months planning for and dreaming of how he would react to seeing me, and the end result is a fuzzy memory in which I didn't even recognize him.

So there we were, a man with a limp and a woman with a shuffle, making quite a pair as we tried to maneuver our way through the woods as best as we could. He mumbled to himself about it being 28 years, and my muscles felt like it had been about that long since I last trekked such a distance.

And then this force blew through me and cleared my brain. Not completely, mind you, but all the memories came back. And I recognized the man in front of me as the man he was turning into after true love's kiss.

The curse upon him was broken!

My feet froze in place as I realized my good fortune. I asked for him to wait, but he was determined to keep moving. I called him by his name and that caught his attention.

"Rumpelstiltskin?"

He turned slowly and tenuously. I walked up to him, the last few steps of the millions I'd taken to get back to him, all so that he could hear the three words I needed to say most.

"I love you," my voice broke with emotion.

He smiled and relaxed, and I could tell that he was replaying my words in his mind. He hugged me, and I embraced him with all my might.

"Yes. Yes. And I love you too."

Hearing him say that was worth everything I'd been through. I felt such pure love radiate through my torso and then out through my fingers and toes. Our reunion may have been garbled in my mind, but his declaration was permanently cemented in my memory.

He pulled away and I inhaled sharply in anticipation of a kiss. But he kept his hand against the side of my head, his thumb against my cheek, keeping me at bay. I figured it was because he wanted to look at me, to drink in the sight of me just as I wanted to drink in the sight of him.

"But hey, they'll be time for that," he offered, looking deeply into my eyes. "They'll be time for everything."

My heart flip-flopped at his words — and the look on his face as he said them. I gulped. My mind wandered to all the things that 'everything' would be.

I tried to move in closer, but it was almost as if he was keeping my head at distance. My lips away from his.

"But there's something I must do first." And then he turned and started walking away.

My face crinkled in confusion. So he wasn't going to kiss me? But it was such a perfect opportunity!

He stopped at a well. He looked down it and explained that the water below has the power to return that which one has lost.

Then he pulled a bottle out of his pocket that contained a purple substance. He removed the stopper and threw the bottle in. Purple smoke bellowed up.

We stepped back and as the smoke surrounded us, he placed his arm around my waist. The action was more protective than romantic. I didn't like it. And I didn't understand.

"We're in a land without magic, Belle," he explained. "And I'm bringing it here. Magic is coming."

"Why?" I asked.

"Why?" he repeated. There was an unnerving fierceness in his words. "Because magic is power."

The purple smoke enveloped us and he held me tight as my vision blurred. I turned and embraced him, burying my head in his shoulder. He kept his left arm around me.

I could feel the magic entering him, this electricity around my waist. I felt his muscles flex and then relax. I recognized that feeling. I often experienced it after a hefty dose of narcotics.

The purple smoke cleared and I pulled away tenuously. He was shaking. I lifted my head to face him, but he turned away from me.

He looked at his hands in awe as the remains of magic danced around them. He grinned. Tears of joy welled in his eyes: the same reaction from when he saw me. I couldn't help but be hurt by that.

He brushed his hand across his right knee and slowly put weight on it. Then he leaped on it and yelped for joy.

He threw his cane across the gorge. He ran to me, picked me up with one arm and twirled me around. As he lowered me, he again put his free hand through my hair, and when I tried to move my face closer to his, he gently prevented it and placed me back on the ground.

I looked around and discovered that I was standing on a porch of a pink house. He agilely jumped down six porch steps in two strides and ran through the front yard. The magic from the wishing well was just reaching this area now and Rumpelstiltskin started controlling it, weaving it to his will as it surrounded trees and the house.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Protecting you!" he answered. He sounded like a man possessed. "No one is ever, ever going to get to you and hurt you again! Not as long as you are under MY roof."

His words reassured and scared me at the same time. As the purple smoke dissipated, he sighed in happy relief and returned to me on the porch, again clearing six steps in two strides.

He smiled and placed his hands protectively on my arms. "You'll be safe here, Belle. Now I have to go take care of some things in town. But I should be back before night fall. Alright?"

I nodded. What else could I do?

He turned and jumped down the porch steps, this time in one stride. He walked into the remains of the purple smoke and in a blink, he was gone.

I entered the house and closed the door behind me. I slid down it and put my head between my knees.

I was exhausted. My mind was swimming.

I toured the house, which buoyed my spirits and gave me energy. The woodwork was beautifully detailed and the rooms were finely furnished with high-end antiques. I counted six bedrooms and five bathrooms on all three floors. Much too big for a bachelor. My heart soared at the prospects of filling these rooms someday — and not just with the antiques he was hording. I especially liked the wooden hobby horse in the foyer and couldn't help wondering how soon it could be used.

Only two bedrooms were set up. One looking out on the front yard, and the other on the side yard. And the house featured — I had to laugh at this — a huge laundry room on the second floor. Would I screw laundry up as badly as I did at the castle? He wore suits that looked dry clean only to me, so maybe that was for the best.

I took a deep, cleansing breath and decided to take a bath. I went into the bathroom and closed the door behind me. A full-length mirror hung on the back of the door. I gasped at my reflection. I was a complete and utter mess! No wonder he didn't want to kiss me!

I frowned as I turned the water on and undressed. With magic in town now, I wondered if the mirrors needed to be covered. I placed a towel over it, just in case.

Good riddance, image.

When the tub was full, I sunk down into it, reveling in the warm water surrounding my body. My brain started working even better. It was so nice to be able to think!

If the queen regained her power to see through mirrors, that would mean…

And this revelation hit me like a punch to the gut.

He couldn't kiss me. Ever.

That's why he held me back. Because the last time I kissed him, it broke the curse and its associated powers dissipated. He may look like his uncursed self here, but the curse was still in full effect. And he was so ecstatic because he finally devised a way to retrieve its benefits.

I bit my lip, wrapped my toes around the bathtub faucet and tilted my head back, replaying his words in my mind: "There will be time for that. There will be time for everything."

Really?

I traveled around the world to find him for six months, only to discover when I arrived that he had been taken prisoner. I planned his escape down to every last detail for a month, only at the last second to be interrupted and whisked away by the curse, forced to sit in a dank cell for 28 years.

Oh sure, HE may have time. But how much time do I have? And even though I know he cares about me more than his powers, it sure didn't seem that way just now. Would he relinquish those powers eventually? Could he swear that what he was doing was only temporary? It seemed like this was a conversation worth having for clarification. How long would I have to wait to love him freely?

I know it doesn't sound it, but after the bath, I did feel much better. I had to wonder if some of the water from that well was connected to this house, as I did feel physically healed, if not emotionally.

I drained the tub and took the towel off the mirror. I looked at myself in it, assessing my hair, my face, my body.

Oh yeah, so much better.

I looked at the heap of clothes on the floor. There was no way I was putting those back on. But what else was there to wear?

My eyes twinkled in the mirror at a deliciously evil idea.

He was going to find me wearing one of his shirts. And nothing else.

I proudly walked naked to his bedroom and pulled one of his many purple shirts off the hanger. It fit snugly and barely made it to mid-thigh. I draped a red and purple striped tie under the collar as if it were a decorative scarf. I skipped back to the bathroom to assess my reflection, placing my hands on the small of my back.

Wow. That's all there was to say. I giggled and hopped in anticipation.

Let's see how you deal with that, Rumpelstiltskin. If we're going to play this game, I am going to make it hard on you.

And that pun is intended.


	20. Baring It All

_2:30pm_

I've chickened out. I've taken those awful hospital clothes and put them in the washing machine so I can wear them again. (Thankfully the interior door of the washing machine includes instructions and nothing is exploding or overflowing.) Later this evening when Rumpelstiltskin returns I'll talk to him about getting a new wardrobe. Maybe even Sally and Vera could stop by, just like they did the last time. It would be so nice to see them again. Betsy and Charlie too.

While I'm waiting, I'm sitting in the music room, which is really the third bedroom on the second floor. This room itself could be a record store: It is filled wall-to-wall with shelves of albums. A record player sits on a table in the middle of the room next to an armchair. I have been going through old albums and playing classical music that reminds me of the torturous dance lessons and balls I was forced to attend, where Gaston always beat the other boys to being my partner. The irony is that I used to fantasize about other things while dancing so I could forget how close I was to him, and now that's exactly what I want with Rumpelstiltskin.

We are at the Dark Castle, except it's no longer dark; its bright and festive. The collection room is now a ballroom and people line the walls to see Rumpelstiltskin dance with me. He is in a cropped blue jacket with gold buttons and matching pants (leather, of course). He waltzes divinely and leads me out onto the veranda, with our guests following. The song ends and our dancing stops in time for the fireworks to begin. Then we leave our guests behind as he leads me up the stairs — and the fireworks continue in other ways.

Oh, the washing machine just buzzed. Let me put my clothes in the dryer — hold on.

Ok, back. I set the dryer to low heat — that should be the best bet.

As I was walking out of the laundry room, I noticed a gray fedora on a hat rack. I put it on, tucking my hair behind my ears, and looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. Wow. It definitely completes the sexy ensemble. All I can say is it's a good thing I'm giving Rumpelstiltskin a break!

Where was I? Oh, fireworks. No, I can't go there. Don't think that. Let's put the classical music away and turn to something more modern. He's got Rush, Led Zeppelin, oh wait, this looks interesting. Oh, this is perfect! I'm going to put this on, turn up the volume and dance to my heart's content. Back in a bit!

_4pm_

The song really was perfect. These are the opening lyrics:

_Though I've tried before to tell her  
Of the feelings I have for her in my heart  
Every time that I come near her  
I just lose my nerve  
As I've done from the start_

My heart swelled. I danced out of the music room and skidded down the hallway to the laundry room.

_Every little thing she does is magic  
Every thing she do just turns me on  
Even though my life before was tragic  
Now I know my love for her goes on_

I started lip-synching and dancing more dramatically, even more so to the bridge.

_I resolved to call her up  
A thousand times a day  
And ask her if she'll marry me  
In some old-fashioned way  
But my silent fears have gripped me  
Long before I reached the phone  
Long before my tongue has tripped me  
Must I always be alone?_

At the last word, I spun around and stopped myself as the song paused before its chorus.

Rumpelstiltskin stood in the doorway. His face expressed a multitude of emotions. Confusion. Surprise. Longing.

Of course, this is all upon reflection, with the image of him emblazoned on my brain. At the time, I was too mortified to recognize any of it. I tugged at the shirttails, willing them to lengthen.

"My … my clothes … are … are in the dryer," I stuttered.

He didn't say anything. He looked too befuddled.

I took a step toward him and opened my mouth to apologize. He immediately winced, turned away and strode down the hallway. He raised his left hand in flourish and I felt magic engulf my waist. I looked down and the purple shirt transformed into my blue dress from my days working in the Dark Castle.

I returned to the music room and shut off the record player. I hesitated as I approached him. He was leaning against the hallway banister, gripping it with all his might. He kept his head down as I neared.

I cleared my throat. "You said you wouldn't be back until nightf…"

"Well, I arrived home early," he retorted angrily. He looked up at the ceiling and sighed heavily. He spoke again, this time trying to steady his voice. "My business concluded earlier than expected."

After a few deep breaths, he seemed more in control of himself. He tenuously loosened his grip on the banister and then let go completely, straightening his back to his full height. He turned to me cautiously and sighed, although his eyes remained downcast.

"It's my fault," he stiffly admitted. "I should have thought to get you other clothes before I left."

I took the fedora off my head and placed it on his. His gaze met mine momentarily before he looked away again.

"You had a lot of other things on your mind. And rightfully so," I noted.

His eyes met mine once more, this time for a longer stretch. They seemed to be asking if I was going to jump him or not. My lack of movement was his answer. I couldn't tell if he was relieved or disappointed.

I decided to change the subject. "I would like to see Sally and Vera again. Maybe they can make me something to wear."

He removed the fedora from his head and flipped it in his hands. "Belle, I can't guarantee your safety out there."

"Then bring them here," I suggested.

He sighed and shook his head. "You're not getting it. A war is starting. The only reason I'm back so early is because the sides are regrouping."

I blinked. "And what does that have to do with Sally and Vera?"

He ran his fingers through his hair and turned to walk around me. "We aren't going to get into this now."

I didn't appreciate him dismissing a topic I cared so much about. I stepped in front of him to block his way.

"No, I think we WILL get into this now. You don't seem to understand that I had a life before you, during you, and after you. I am no longer your prisoner, and you have to let me see the people I care about!" I exhaled audibly in frustration. "You have no idea the things I've done. I've lived my dreams — well, except for one — and I've traveled the world! I became a kunoichi. I have my own katana. If you didn't have magic, I could kick your ass, and don't think I haven't thought of it."

I poked my index finger into his chest. He smiled wryly in response.

I sighed and bit my lip, my anger dissipating. "I have my OWN story, chronicled at length on paper. I appreciate your protection, but please, I don't want to spend any more of my life as someone's prisoner. I've been there and done that for far too long."

His eyes squinted, assessing me. He tried to step around me again, but I blocked him. He threw the fedora at me as a distraction and quickly corrected, jumping the other way around me and bolting up the staircase to the third floor with a laugh.

I tossed the fedora down the hallway, grunted in frustration and chased after him. "Where are you going?"

"You mentioned your story," he began. "I have unclaimed books upstairs. Items that were important enough to people when they were whisked to this world, but they lost for whatever reason. I wonder…"

I reached the top step just as he raised his hands. The boxes and bookshelves shook. Then one cardboard box disintegrated and a leather-bound volume flew into his hands.

He gasped in disbelief at the sight.

I was not as affected; I knew my diary inside and out. My focus was on the marionettes that I saw perched on a rack. They looked well cared for — just a couple months of dust on them — but I knew as soon as I saw them that I would spruce them up, take them downstairs, and give them a change of scenery, as if they were living, breathing humans. These might be the closest things I have to children for a long while.

His lips quivered. "It's been here, with me all along."

I looked around at the clutter and grimaced. "It seems like most stuff has been with you all along."

He frowned and looked at me askance. "I know what and where everything is. I have my own system."

I looked at my diary in his hands and smiled.

He rolled his eyes. "Well, this being the exception," he reluctantly conceded. He held the diary in the air. "May I?" he asked.

I shrugged and nodded. He gave me a lopsided grin and descended two flights of stairs. He settled into the couch in the living room and began reading.

And now I am sitting watching him read my old diary from the safety of the staircase, while I write about it in my new diary. He is gazing at every word as if, well, as if it were me. The pages are lovingly caressed as he turns them. But his facial expressions make me nervous. Sometimes he frowns or his face darkens. Other times, he chuckles and shakes his head. He has already reread several passages. One time he laughed out loud, a real belly laugh, for a good two minutes, while another time he stared at the same page spread for almost 10 minutes. And I have no idea what he's reacting to. He's under a spell, my spell, and I don't want to break it by interrupting him to ask.

_5:30pm_

He is washing up right now so we can make dinner together. I just need a few minutes to write what happened next.

When he finally finished reading, he sat back, crossed his arms and stared off into space. He didn't move a muscle as he became lost in thought. I sat on pins and needles, trying to figure out what he was thinking. Of course, anyone who has ever spent any time with Rumpelstiltskin knows that this is an impossible task.

After a few minutes he turned his gaze to me cowering on the staircase. I looked down in embarrassment, but when I looked back up, he was not only still looking at me but also walking towards me. My heart flip-flopped.

He bent down and tilted my chin up to his face. I stopped breathing. I looked into his eyes and I could tell that whatever walls he had up earlier were mostly down.

Mostly down.

"You are an amazing woman, Belle. Thank you for letting me read that."

"You're welcome," I whispered. I could feel tears of relief welling in my eyes at his reaction. I hadn't realized how scared I was to have him know everything I had been thinking and feeling since I met him. Dancing naked in front of him would have been easier to endure.

Oh, here he is. More later.

_11pm_

He walked into the kitchen as I was finishing the above passage. I put my pen down and closed my book.

"It's nice to walk into a room and see you writing, like the old days," he noted as he sat down across from me. "It's nice to walk into a room and see you at all." He grinned and his eyes twinkled. "It's going to take some getting used to again — in a good way."

We made dinner together (steak, oven roasted potatoes and asparagus) and reminisced. He asked me questions about my time in Africa and Japan, my return trip and what I had done in planning for his rescue from prison — one of the darkest times of his life when he felt the most alone. He had heard me yell out his name seconds before the curse struck, but he thought he had imagined it. He said he often imagined me in front of him, especially when he was in prison and had no one to talk to.

I asked what passages in the diary affected him most. He admitted laughing hardest at discovering I thought he had a nice bum — as well as me being mortified that he would read the diary and discover that thought.

"I can't pin any one passage that affected me more than others," he admitted. "Reading your perspective of events that I recall was eye-opening. The dreams you had about me — those were pretty powerful." He paused a moment and tried to put his thoughts into word. "Just when I believed there was no way that I could love you more, I'd read your next passage … and I would."

I beamed. This was good enough of an explanation for me.

Now it was his turn to grill me. "When you were angry earlier," he began, "you mentioned that you've lived all of your dreams except one. What's the one that is missing?"

I bit my lip in hesitation and looked at my plate. "It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does," he disagreed gently. "I have power now." He cut into his steak. "What is that you want? I can make it happen."

I shook my head. "No, you can't."

He frowned in offense that I wouldn't tell him and stabbed his fork into a potato.

I winced. "I want a normal life with the man I love," I admitted.

He swallowed a piece of potato. It looked like it didn't go down well. "Oh," he said. He put his fork and knife down and sighed. "Someday, Belle. I promise, someday." The pain reflected in his eyes turned to a twinkle. "And in a cherry orchard."

We cleaned up after dinner and retreated to the living room. He enchanted the ceiling to show the stars while I pulled cushions off the couch. This time, however, I lay on the cushions and he rested his head against my stomach while I brushed my fingers through his hair. The role reversal was pleasant.

We were silent for awhile, just looking at the stars and lost in thought. But there was something he was holding back from me, a part of himself he was hiding that prevented him from being completely open with me.

"Rumplestiltskin?"

"Hmm?"

"I bared my soul in my diary. Don't you think it's time to bare yours?"

I was shocked that I had stated my feelings aloud. He hesitated and I sensed his fear. He sat up and brought his knees to his chest. I sat up as well. He paused for a minute and I could see him struggling whether to tell me something.

I rubbed my hands against his biceps and rested my head against the back of his left shoulder. I could feel him stiffen in discomfort, but I remained there nonetheless. He exhaled steadily and his body relaxed under mine.

And with that breath, the last of his walls finally fell.

He told me about his life as a neglected boy and how he had fled the First Ogre War. He told me about Baelfire and how he was the best son in the world. He told me about how he sought the knife that ultimately cursed him, so that he could save Baelfire and the children forced to fight in the Ogre War. How it corrupted him. How his son tried to find a cure and how being too afraid to follow him was the only deal he ever broke. How he has been regretting it and missing his son so much ever since. How he created the curse and got the Evil Queen to make the ultimate sacrifice and bring it to fruition. How he arranged for Snow White's daughter to one day return and break the curse so he'd be free to find Baelfire. And how he recently got bamboozled by a man pretending to be Baelfire who wanted to gain control of Rumpelstiltskin's powers.

Now it was my turn to sit and stare into space, lost in thought, processing everything I heard.

Hours later he was emotionally spent and physically exhausted after unloading everything he had been through over the years.

I responded by interlacing my fingers with his. "We will find him together," I said emphatically.

He looked at me in confusion.

"He is your son," I explained. "So he is my son too."

His eyes widened in shock and I cringed.

"I'm sorry, is that too presumptuous of me?" I asked.

He put my face in his hands, his thumbs massaging my cheeks. His touch thrilled me.

"I was expecting you to run out that door after hearing everything I've done," he admitted with wide eyes. "But you're still here."

I shrugged and smiled. "No, I understand things better now, and I thank you for sharing all that with me. I was a threat to powers you needed to get your son back." I bit my lip. "So until then, I'll be good. Promise."

He just stared at me in wonder. Finally he found his voice.

"I have dreamt about the two of you together by my side," he admitted, looking at me with such love in his eyes. "You and Bae will get along so well. You'll make a great mother to him."

My face softened at his remark. Rumplestiltskin is not one to give compliments, but I've received a few from him from time to time. This compliment, however, meant the most to me. Because it meant the most to him.

I gazed at his lips and I noticed him gazing at mine. I didn't want to dwell on the remark because I knew I'd end up kissing him. He sensed an impending liplock as well and his eyes filled with fear. He quickly removed his hands as if they burned and turned away from me.

"What do you know of his whereabouts?" I asked, changing the subject.

He cleared his throat. "Not much. But a bean brought him here. And I think that alone is a sign of where he is in this land."

"Where's that?" I asked.

"Beantown," he answered.

"Beantown," I repeated. My eyes widened at the realization. "Boston!"

He nodded. "Precisely. I'm quite certain he is in Boston. The problem is I don't know when. He could be at any point in time there." His forehead creased as he frowned. "And at any age. That's why having magic is so important. Not only in finding him, but in retrieving him."

I collapsed against the pillows. He rested his head against my stomach once more. We were silent for awhile, digesting everything that had just happened. He finally turned on his side to look at me, but then looked aghast at the view he had of my breasts. He sat up instead and broke the silence by sighing.

"This is going to be a challenge for us, isn't it."

I snorted, understanding that his reference to 'this' had several different meanings. "That's the understatement of the year."

He laughed another good belly laugh. He brushed a curl away from my forehead.

"Tomorrow we'll go visit whoever you want. Even your father." He sighed. "That's going to be awkward."

"Why?" I asked.

"I'll explain tomorrow," he grimaced and slowly rose. Then he offered me his arm and pulled me to my feet. "Just keep in mind that I was led to believe he caused your death."

I tilted my head to the side and looked at him in confusion. What was he hinting at?

He scratched the back of his head and started walking away. "I think it's time for bed." He paused and turned back. "Um, you in yours," he pointed to the ceiling where the front bedroom was, "and me in mine." He pointed toward the back of the house.

I nodded. This was what I figured. Too tempting otherwise.

He nodded as well. Again, I couldn't tell if he was relieved or disappointed that I didn't argue.

And so I'm in my bed in the front bedroom. After tomorrow, I have no idea what we will do or where our journey will take us. But his quest is now mine. And we will find Baelfire together.

It's a new life.

And like I do with his oatmeal every morning, I will meet it with a smiley face.

**A/N: Thank you to all who have supported me as I've written this. Your reviews and feedback have been amazing and appreciated. Please keep them coming!**

**FYI, I plan on creating Belle's Diary sequels for each season, enhancing canon. My next story debuting this summer will address what happened to Baelfire. **

**If you've enjoyed my work and want to see more, be sure to subscribe to me on Author Alerts so you don't miss anything. You can also follow me on Twitter: jennykate75. Feel free to say hello! I'm always up to chatting about OUAT stuff, and I'm also active in the Once Upon a Fan community.**


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